Cemetery of the Nameless Page 20

  “No. It’s going to be a transfer to another bank.”

  “That’s no assurance that it won’t disappear the same instant it arrives. Don’t believe that just because it’s going to a bank means anything. These days you can move money several times in the blink of an eye.”

  “I guess I’m just going to have to make a judgment call when the time comes.”

  “Rocky...”

  “Steve, I have no choice! Just be ready at your end when the time comes.”

  “Okay, okay. That shouldn’t present a problem, but I’ll obviously need to know the specifics about where the money’s going, account number, bank codes and the like. And there’s going to be some paperwork involved. I just can’t do this sort of thing on your say-so over the phone.”

  “I’m sure they have a business centre here in the hotel. You can fax me there. I’ll fill out whatever you need and send it right back. How quickly can the transfer be done once you have everything?”

  “Like I said, in the blink of an eye. There’s a fair bit of set-up time for doing something like this, though. I’m going to have to spend the rest of the day liquidating a lot of your investments. Assuming there aren’t, um, regulatory problems where it’s going, I should be able to get everything ready by tomorrow morning. Is that good enough?”

  “No. It’s going to have to be by the end of the day here in Vienna. Say nine p.m. at the latest if everything works out. That’s three p.m. your time. Is there any possibility you could be ready by then?”

  “Yeah,” he sighed, “if everything goes without a hitch. I won’t be able to do anything until I get down to the office, but if I get right on it, we should make your deadline. Just. How do I get in touch with you?”

  “Call me at the hotel,” I answered, giving him the number, “but don’t say much. My line might be tapped. I’ll call you right back. Otherwise, I’ll phone you at the office at three o’clock.”

  “This is real cloak and dagger stuff, appropriate for a place like Vienna. Rocky—”

  “I owe you for this, Steve.”

  “Just watch what you’re doing. These are deep waters you’re swimming in and you’re in a foreign country. The laws don’t work the same way as they do over here. I strongly advise you to speak to a lawyer before you make any irrevocable decisions. If you need any sort of advice or help with this, I can recommend people.”

  “Thanks, Steve.”

  Back in the hotel room, Roderick was propped up in his bed, glasses down at the end of his nose, reading a Viennese newspaper. After I’d given him a silent thumbs up, he said, “You’ve done all you can for now. I guess we have to sit back and wait.”

  “Nope. Follow me.”

  So Roderick and I headed for the hotel bar. It wasn’t easy to find a seat at that hour, but because the place was crowded, it was also noisy, making it possible to speak privately. Nevertheless, we both nervously kept a lookout in case someone moved nonchalantly into earshot.

  I ordered us both large scotches. “Now tell me what you found out yesterday on your little excursion south. You uncovered some useful information?” I asked after my first swallow.

  “Actually, yes, and some of it concerns Thekla, by fortuitous happenstance. Without much trouble, I found out that the local inn is run by her family. Figuring it was a good place to start, we stopped for lunch. Like most places in town, the establishment is owned by—”

  “Yeah, yeah. The von Heislinger family.”

  Roderick smiled over his drink. “Herr Grillzer is not a big fan of his landlord, and he was very forthcoming—about the only person in town to be. Everyone else seems to be a huge von Heislinger supporter. If Tory were to show up there, they’d gladly hang her from the nearest lamppost, an old Austrian custom, you understand.

  “Anyway, Grillzer had heard the rumours about Baron von Heislinger’s, ah, appetites, and was not in favour of his daughter working at the Schloss, but the family also didn’t want to sour relations with their landlord when the baron kept insisting. A tough dilemma to be in. Eventually, monetary pragmatism won out. It also seems our little maid has stars in her eyes, and the baron had promised to help her.

  “Right after the cops questioned her, she left town. Gave her notice on the spot, making the excuse that she was too upset by what she’d been through. When you think about being tied to a chair for six or seven hours, forced to look at her employer’s dead body, you can see why it wasn’t questioned.” Roderick gave a stage shiver. “Pretty gruesome, even if she and Tory staged it.

  “She went back to her family and immediately packed for Vienna. Frau Grillzer—who’s very upset about her daughter leaving—told me Thekla seemed quite keyed up, excited. She doesn’t know why.”

  “I can well imagine,” I said, “considering what she was planning. A cool million is a hell of a lot to get excited about.”

  “Let’s hope what you’re buying is worth it.”

  “Only time will tell. With any luck, I’ll meet with Thekla tonight, pay her a truckload of money and get Tory off the hook. After that, we’ll have to arrange some sort of press conference. Marty can handle that.”

  “Might I also suggest replacing your missing laptop at the earliest opportunity? Tory may send another email, and you don’t want to be using public computers.”

  “Good point,” I said, finally grinning. It felt good. “All in all, it’s shaping up to be your average day in Toryland.” I downed the rest of my drink. “Let’s go buy a computer. We need clothes, too, come to think of it. That will eat up some time. I’ll go nuts if I have to wait in our room. By the way, do you know where this Opernpassage Thekla mentioned is located?”

  Roderick returned my grin. “I was wondering when you’d think of that. Coming back from shopping will also be good cover for when you make that call at five thirty. He stood up. “And Vienna’s a great place to shop. Let’s go!”

  “All over Europe, people are reporting having spotted Victoria Morgan. Of course, these are probably the same people who regularly report spotting Elvis, too.”

  —Marilyn Bergman, CBC News European correspondent

  Chapter 16

  TORY

  “I really wish you’d reconsider this, Tory. It is such a stupid, stupid idea!”

  Elen and I had been going at it for the better part of forty-five minutes. I nervously checked the clock again. Almost seven. I had one last chance to get hold of that manuscript, and we were wasting time arguing over when we should leave. She wanted me to get there at eleven thirty as Thekla had said in the email because it would be safer. My idea was to get there around nine to make sure that the little schemer wasn’t planning something underhanded. How could I ever have trusted her? If she really wanted to double-deal, the cops would be expecting me at the appointed time, not two-and-a-half hours earlier. Getting there early would also give me more time to plead my case. To my mind, I stood a far better chance of success by going early.

  Elen’s position was that if I were to be smart, I would go to the cops, tell them everything and let them take possession of the Beethoven manuscript. I told her I’d rather drown in the Danube than do that. And so it went, round and round.

  “Look, Elen, I’m going in there with nothing to bargain with except promises! It would be a hell of a lot different if I could walk in there and actually plop down a cool quarter of a million cash. Can you imagine how Thekla’s eyes would pop out at that amount of money?”

  We both had our points, of course. Elen had listened to the evening news and read the English language papers and knew the firestorm of public sentiment that had been whipped up. With tempers running that hot against me, she felt I was asking for something really bad to happen. On the other hand, I’d come too far, risked everything and would have absolutely nothing to show for it if I did as Elen asked. I had to make one last attempt to secure this piece of music, then the chips could fall where they might.

  Shortly after seven, Doktor Max arrived unannounced to check the stitches
he’d put into my posterior the previous day and to lay a few more painkillers on me, since it still hurt way too much for me to forget for one minute that I had nether regions. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, but less so about my weight.

  “You are far too thin, my dear. You have not been eating lately.”

  “I haven’t been hungry.”

  “You should eat anyway. You must be at least five or six kilos under your proper weight, even assuming that you wish to appear as emaciated as all the other young women these days.”

  After he’d closed up his bag, Elen invited him to stay for a cup of coffee. It occurred to me that she was trying to stall our departure. She knew quite well that having this outsider there would prevent me from forcing the issue.

  As they were sitting on the sofa, Doktor Max, noticing Elen’s mental distance, reached out to stroke her hand almost absent-mindedly. Seeing confirmation of what I had suspected, sadness immediately washed over me.

  “You seem very bothered,” Max said to my friend.

  Elen sighed deeply. “Stress. Exhaustion. It’s been a very long day.”

  The good doktor looked over at me, and perhaps due to something he read in my expression, he retreated more towards his sofa corner. “You have been on the news much today,” he said.

  I made a good attempt at a smile. “I’ve always avoided reading my concert reviews. This is pretty much the same thing, isn’t it?”

  “You must be very careful,” Max said. “You are who everyone in Vienna is talking about. I will do what I can to help you but...I must ask you to keep my name out of this. Any publicity would be a very bad thing for me.” He got to his feet and looked down at me with an expression I didn’t much like. “You know how it is.”

  When I nodded grimly, he patted my hand, smiling, then with a “’Wiedersehen” sent in Elen’s direction, he hurried out into the night. I suddenly felt very uneasy about him.

  Elen picked up the two empty soup mugs and the remains of cheese and crackers and headed towards the kitchen.

  I watched as she crossed the room and again felt inexpressibly sad for what she was doing with her landlord. Only six months ago, she’d told me how much she adored her husband. Dai deserved better, I thought, with a guilty pang over my own past actions.

  “Would you like some coffee or tea?” she called from the kitchen.

  “So how long have you and Max been having an affair?” I answered back.

  Elen reappeared in the doorway with the most “gob-smacked” (to use Roddy’s colourful term) expression on her face. “What did you say?” Maybe she thought I’d change my question if she asked me to repeat it.

  “It’s obvious that you two are much more than landlord and tenant. It’s none of my business, but I was curious.”

  Elen just stood there looking like a deer caught in approaching headlights. “How did you know?” she finally managed to croak.

  I shrugged. “Little things. Ever since I got here, I've had the feeling something wasn’t right, and then there you were talking and laughing with Max yesterday morning. Seeing you two sitting together just now merely confirmed my surmise.”

  “It was that obvious?”

  “To someone who’s been there, yeah.”

  She looked appalled. “Oh, God, you could actually tell—”

  “Yes, dear Elen, I could. I take it Dai doesn’t know.”

  After that, the whole sad story came out. How Elen had met Max at a Heurigen when she’d first gotten to Vienna. How they’d sat and talked for hours and she’d had a bit too much to drink. He’d brought her back to this apartment, and they’d made love.

  “I’d never done anything like that before, something wild and impetuous, and it was wonderful!” Elen said defiantly.

  “Did you feel that way the next morning?”

  “Yes!”

  “How about when you talked to Dai the next time?”

  Elen’s defiant look began to waver a bit.

  “You’re going to have to make a decision about this pretty soon,” I told her.

  “You’re a fine one to talk!”

  “I only did one-nighters. In the morning, I was gone at first light—or they were. That’s a bit different than this,” I said, indicating the room around us.

  Elen put her head down. “I know. How come reformed sinners are so hard to argue with?”

  “We’ve already seen the devil we’re dealing with,” I answered and stopped.

  Something had made me shiver involuntarily.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as she looked up. “You’re very pale all of a sudden.”

  “Mamgu would say that someone walked across my grave.”

  “You think something bad is going to happen?”

  I nodded.

  “Then you won’t go looking for Thekla tonight?” Elen asked, not bothering to hide the relief in her voice.

  “I’m not sure if my premonition has anything to do with tonight. It was...indistinct, but very strong.” I shivered again.

  “You know I’ve felt all along that going to see Thekla is a really bad idea. This just makes me more convinced. Listen to me, Tory. Don’t go. It’s mad!”

  I shook my head. “Elen, I know in my gut that I have to do this. Don’t you realize I’ve been waiting ever since we got back to Vienna? I didn’t know what for until you told me what you’d seen this afternoon. I have to go there tonight, and it has to be at nine.” I smiled ruefully. “You must think I’m pretty dumb.”

  “No... Not dumb.” She stopped to consider. “Impetuous, certainly.”

  Elen’s choice of word in Welsh for impetuous was not the usual byrbwyll but nwydwyllt, the root word of which means “passion”, acknowledging where my obviously not-thought-through decisions come from, which made it a kinder remark than it might have been. At least she understood why I could be such a fool. It wasn’t because I was stupid, just passionate.

  She slapped her hands on her knees and stood up. “Okay. You win. It’s time we got going.”

  “Elen... Just give me a map, and I’ll find my own way there. I don’t want you involved any more.”

  “No.”

  “I have to do this by myself.”

  “No. I’m going—and that’s final!”

  “Elen...”

  She walked over to the front hall, grabbed our coats, throwing mine to me. “You have quite a knack for getting yourself in trouble,” Elen continued as she slipped on her coat, “and if you believe I’m going to sit here waiting for your bad thing to happen, you’re more daft than I thought!”

  ***

  The weather had gotten a good deal colder and snow had begun falling. A gusty wind whipped it upward into the street lights, where it glowed like a shower of wintry fireflies before falling back to earth again. Elen and I pulled our coats more snugly around us and stomped our feet in an attempt to keep them warm as we waited for a bus.

  At one time, Vienna had been the centre of the universe—at least in Austrian minds. They had a lot of property to back up that feeling: Bohemia, Slovakia, Hungary, parts of Italy, a good chunk of Poland and the Balkans. As befits the crown jewel of an empire which at its height had a population of fifty million, the wealth rolled in. The palaces in the old part of the city are simply stupendous, the art takes your breath away; churches, grand boulevards, everywhere you look is magnificence—not to mention the music that was created here.

  But like any great place, Vienna also has its less desirable sections. Our destination with the prosaic name of Storkgasse was definitely getting closer to the bottom, not a ghetto, but not the place where you’d find Bloomingdales on the corner, either. With the blowing snow and darkness closing in on us, I felt as if I were in a scene from The Third Man, the great black and white movie about a ruined, postwar city trying to get back on its feet. The street disappeared into the shadowy distance, as did the echoes of our footsteps on the deserted sidewalk. All sensible Viennese had found someplace warm and cozy on a night like thi
s. Somewhere to our left we heard the eeah, ee-ah, ee-ah of an emergency vehicle, to me a desolate, disturbing sound at the best of times. Harry Lyme could have passed us on the opposite sidewalk. Next to me, Elen muttered what sounded like a prayer in Welsh. I mentally hitched up my pants and hardened my heart. I’d come too far to back out now.

  No. Thekla had gone too far for me to back out now.

  After about three blocks, Elen yanked me into the doorway of a boarded-up shop. “That’s it!” she hissed, pointing to a building across the street. “Front apartment, third floor.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Elen tapped my forehead, something she was fond of doing when I was acting particularly obtuse. “Do you think I’d take a chance and send you to the wrong apartment? I saw Thekla close the curtains shortly before she came downstairs and left the building this afternoon. Whether she’s there now is another matter, but at least you won’t be knocking on the wrong door.”

  “Looks as if someone’s home, judging by the lights peeking around the curtains,” I answered softly.

  “This is your intrepid expedition. What do we do now?”

  “I go in and confront her, that’s what.” I squeezed Elen’s shoulder. “Give me five minutes. If I open that curtain then everything is all right. If I don’t, then you get the hell out of here and don’t look back. I’ve already forgotten where I’ve been hiding out the past few days—if you catch my drift.” I hugged her tightly. “‘Thanks’ is a pretty inadequate word.”

  Before she could answer, I stepped out of the doorway and crossed the street.

  ***

  I figured that I would walk in unexpectedly on Thekla, thus shocking her. Then I would appeal to her sense of fairness by telling her that she’d made a deal with me, thus making her feel guilty. Then I’d offer to get Rocky to go to the bank of her choice and write a number followed by a whole mess of zeros on a cheque, thus appealing to her greed. After that, without much further ado, she’d fork over the music that she’d waltzed off with from von Heislinger’s castle, thus concluding our negotiations.