Cemetery of the Nameless Read online

  Okay, my hopes were definitely extremely naïve. I admit I was focussed on only one thing: making sure that manuscript was safe. Until I heard from her own lips that she didn’t know where the concerto was, I lived in the slim hope that Thekla hadn’t completely lied to me. At the bottom of it all was the fact that I guess I still trusted her, despite what had happened. She had helped me out of a very tight place. What was there for her to gain by turning around and getting me captured again? Also, she’d told me where I could go in Italy for help. Maybe she was a complete Judas—or maybe she actually had the concerto. There was only one way to find out.

  All my intentions went right out the window when I’d climbed the second flight of stairs and entered the apartment. I should have been alerted to the fact that something wasn’t right when I noticed the apartment door ajar. Squeezing through, I found myself in a darkened hall. To my left, I could make out a dimly lit room framed by a second doorway. Tiptoeing to it, I peeked in.

  It was an old-fashioned sitting room: lots of tassels, heavy fabric, dark colours, highly polished mahogany surfaces covered with ornate lace doilies. To my right was a breakfront with bric-a-brac crammed on the glass shelves. There was also one of those desks with a million pigeon holes at the back. The light in the room came from a floor lamp near the chintz-upholstered sofa. Barely visible to the right of this were two sneakered feet. I crept forward with a pretty good idea what I would find, though I didn’t really want to see it.

  Thekla lay on her side, the black handle of a long kitchen knife protruding from her chest with the tip of its blade gleaming redly from her back. Blood dripped off the point, drop by precious drop.

  As I looked down, Thekla shuddered. The killer’s work hadn’t been thorough enough.

  Kneeling close to her head, I listened to the faint breaths rattling in her chest and knew I couldn’t do anything to save her.

  “Thekla, who did this to you?”

  The poor girl’s eyes fluttered, then slowly opened, but I couldn’t be sure they were focussing on anything as they rolled around.

  “Thekla!”

  Her eyes stopped and held on my face. She tried to mumble a few delirious words, but all that came out was an indistinct airy wheeze.

  Bending closer, I repeated, “Who did this to you?”

  Thekla strained to say something.

  Even though I had my ear barely an inch from her lips, the words she whispered were so faint I could not be certain what she was actually saying. It sounded to me like, “The sissy is my fiancé,” then something else followed by the word “broom.” The last word barely made it out on the wings of Thekla’s final, sighing breath.

  Von Heislinger’s maid had joined him in death. Another lost person in this continuing tragedy.

  The next few minutes will always be a jumble in my mind. I knew I shouldn’t do anything but hightail it for the hills but the goal which had dragged me here over all good sense still remained. The treasure might still be within my grasp. On a table at the far end of the room sat a new-looking VCR and a small TV . Against everything else in the room, it stuck out like a sore thumb. I gave it barely a glance, though, since it had nothing to do with my business.

  The desk seemed the logical place to begin my search, but it didn’t take me long to realize that my score couldn’t be there: none of the pigeon holes or drawers were big enough to hold the sheets. I pulled up the cushions on the sofa and all the chairs, then looked under things. In the bottom of the breakfront were three drawers, and I was busy rummaging through their contents of silverware, tablecloths and more lace doilies when I heard the sound I’d been dreading: footsteps on the stairs.

  With only seconds to formulate a plan, I went out onto the small landing in front of Thekla’s door, barely larger than a pause between one flight of stairs and the next. Who was coming and where could I hide? I spotted a broom by the door, and realizing I needed as much cover as I could get, I grabbed it and swung at the single light bulb burning in the ceiling. Curse the high ceilings you find in these old European buildings! This one nearly defeated me, and it was probably only my fear of being caught which lent me the extra strength to finally jump high enough to connect with the glass and send it cascading all over the floor.

  With darkness cloaking my movements, I went partway up the staircase leading to the floor above and waited with thumping heart for whatever would happen next.

  As the invisible feet stopped at the top of the flight of stairs directly below me, a sinister voice whispered, “Thekla!” With a jolt, I realized someone was about to find the disaster I’d left behind in that horrible apartment, and I was still on the scene.

  “My friends, from what the Austrian authorities have revealed of their investigation, Victoria Morgan is guilty, pure and simple. Whether she ever stands before a court of justice to face a conviction on the charge of murder is another matter completely. She has enough money to hire the best lawyers and expert witnesses, and everyone knows how they can twist the truth anyway they want! But remember this: her day of reckoning will come when she faces the Lord in all his might.”

  —Reverend Geremiah Cornwell, in one of his Church of Righteousness broadcasts

  Chapter 17

  ROCKY

  The Opernpassage is, as its name suggests even to those who don’t speak German, underneath the Vienna State Opera, forming part of a large underground complex connecting with the U-Bahn system. As these sorts of places go, it wasn’t bad, but the shops and kiosks had that same slightly grotty, forlorn feel as the ones in subway stations back in my old stomping grounds in New York.

  The place where we found ourselves at 5:22 was a large circular area with shops around the perimeter and passages leading off to who knows where. Like the airport, a lot of yellow paint had been splashed around. Maybe the Viennese think that yellow cheers everyone up. It didn’t help here.

  Since it was rush hour, crowds were moving through, but no one seemed to take the slightest interest in us. A good sign.

  At the door to the Austrobus office (which also sells tickets to various events around town), Roderick stopped and said to me in a voice loud enough to be heard by anyone nearby, “Wait here, old man. I’ll only be a few minutes. We might still get decent seats for the opera tonight.”

  I strolled around the perimeter until I got to the far side where, sure enough, there was a pay phone in a small alcove.

  Casually leaning against the wall next to it, I put down the bags I was carrying and checked my watch. The phone rang promptly at five thirty. I pretended to look at it strangely, then glanced around as if to spot someone who might be waiting for a call, then shrugged and picked it up myself. I knew I wasn’t much of an actor, but I hoped what I’d done would be enough to confuse anyone who might be interested in what I was doing. I would only need a few moments.

  “Hello?”

  “Guten Tag, Herr Lukesh,” the maid said, “we do not have much time.”

  “You ain’t kidding, sister,” I agreed heartily. “I’m pretty sure someone is following me.”

  “Have you arranged your part of our transaction?”

  “Just give me what I need and the money will be yours.”

  “That is good. Can this be done immediately?”

  “Not so fast. It can be done with a phone call and an account number... but I want to be sure I’m getting what I’m paying for before I hand over one dime.”

  Thekla sighed. In the background, a car horn blasted someone’s anger to another driver. Smart girl. We were both talking on pay phones. “It is not to be avoided, I suppose. All right, my friend, I choose to trust the honesty of your face, ja? I will play for you the video, and you will make the phone call to transfer the money to the account I have set up. Is this agreeable with you?”

  I couldn’t restrain nodding my head. “It will do.”

  “That is good. Now here are the directions to where I can be found. Do not write them down.”

  I looked over my shoulder
nervously. The coast was clear as far as I could see. “You better believe it. Okay, shoot.”

  ***

  Nine twenty that evening found Roderick and me walking down a street that looked like it could have been a set from a Cold War spy thriller: closely-spaced, slightly run-down buildings all the same height (the seemingly standard five stories here in Vienna), cobblestones, street lamps glowing balefully through the fog and thick flakes of falling snow. If somebody had begun playing a zither from one of the darkened doorways we passed, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Tory and I have always loved The Third Man, but I’d never planned on being in it.

  The intervening time since the phone call had been filled with an incredible amount of running around. There had been a quick phone call to Steve, making sure that the transfer of money would go smoothly. In the meantime, Roderick went off to see his friend to borrow a cell phone. Then we decided we needed to buy a second cell phone so I could keep in communication with Tory’s faithful accompanist, who would be doing a different sort of accompanying that evening: watching my back out on the street while I was closing the deal. Finally, we wolfed down some sandwiches we had room service send up.

  Everything was organized as well as could be under the circumstances. Steve would be sitting by the phone in Montreal to start the wheels in motion for transferring the money to whatever account Thekla had arranged. I kept trying to convince myself that it would all go perfectly smoothly. Why didn’t I believe it?

  When it was time to finally get the show on the road, Roderick took me to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant he knew near the big cathedral. Once inside, we immediately slipped out the back door into a narrow alley. This led us to another alley and finally to a deserted back street. It was then a simple matter to hustle a few blocks, get on the U-Bahn, and we were safely on our way. We had to walk the last few blocks.

  As we neared our destination, Roderick and I slowed. Thekla had been quite specific in her instructions: “You are to come alone. I must see no one else with you, and I will have people on guard to make sure. Be certain also that you are not followed. Believe me when I say to you that I can destroy this tape at a moment’s notice. Then where will you be?”

  “Well, this is it,” Roderick told me unnecessarily. “It’s in the hands of the gods from here on. Cell phone working? Good.”

  “I wish there were someplace better for you to wait other than this street corner. It’s damn cold out here tonight.” As if to prove my point, the wind blew a swirl of snow into my face.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll just back into this doorway and stay out of the worst of it.” Roderick and I both checked our watches in the light from a nearby street lamp. “You’d better shake a leg. Two minutes to zero hour.”

  I wanted to say something meaningful to let Roderick know how much his unswerving loyalty had meant to me over the past days, but like the dunce I am, I could think of absolutely nothing.

  Roderick pushed my shoulder as if he was aware of my quandary. “Go, you silly bugger, or this will all be for naught. Go!”

  My antennae were twitching as I turned the corner and crossed the street. Judging by the numbers of each building I passed, my goal would be around the middle of the block. Every doorway looked as if it could harbour prying eyes, and I prayed we’d been thorough enough in our precautions.

  The sidewalks were deserted, the few shops long closed, all of the parked cars seemingly unoccupied. Still, I couldn’t even begin to relax. Too much rode on the next few minutes.

  I double-checked the address before entering the building. On the ground floor was what looked like the remains of a milliner’s shop, long since out of business. What I took to be a realtor’s sign hung askew and water-stained inside the glass door.

  Checking my watch again, I opened the door to the left of the shop. Inside, the surprisingly large foyer smelled primarily of cigarette butts and dust, both of which I couldn’t see because the light was so dim. Terrific. I was trying to figure out how to find the buzzer for apartment #6 when I discovered the inner door did not shut tightly.

  With a shrug, I went through and started up the first flight of stairs. The light at the top switched on as I approached, startling the crap out of me. Looking around and listening carefully, I didn’t think anyone was watching me. The small landing had two doors marked #1 and #2, so #6 was two flights up. I wasn’t more than halfway up the next flight when the light behind me switched off with an audible click. I froze, my heart thumping, but nothing happened. That must have been what the lights were set up to do. Some sort of motion detector and timer, I guessed. How the hell did the landlord expect not to get sued at one point or another when someone fell down the stairs because of the lack of light?

  On the next landing, the same thing happened with the lights, but as I started up the final flight, the distinct tinkle of glass breaking came from somewhere above. I waited. Other than the light behind me winking off, nothing further happened, so I started up the stairs again, my ears straining to hear something useful.

  No light came on when I reached my destination, although something crunched underfoot. Glass. I stopped and spent a very long moment attempting to pierce the darkness with my eyes and ears while trying to decide if I should turn tail and run. Nothing moved, and the only sound reaching my ears was my own breathing, somewhat laboured from the climb and from nervous tension.

  Maybe the little maid was being cagey, wanting to make sure she kept control of what was certainly a dangerous game. “Thekla?” I said in a voice just north of a whisper.

  Of course, I got no response other than my nerves tightening up another few notches. I felt in both coat pockets for matches, then remembered that I’d loaned them to Roderick the day before when his disposable lighter needed disposing of. Cursing to myself, I began to feel my way along the railing which ran along the edge of the stairwell, knowing that the door for #6 would be at the front of the building where the flight to the floor above began.

  The silence in the building was surprising, unless all the tenants went to bed early or were out, both of which I found hard to believe. Other than the sound of my feet crunching on glass and the faint sound of music from somewhere in the distance, the silence was complete.

  Right where I expected to find it, I touched the frame of the door for #6. Sliding my hand over it, I found—nothing.

  The door was open.

  The hair on my neck actually stood up. I knew damn well that something was wrong. Had someone set a trap for me? I couldn’t be robbed, since I only had a cell phone and not the actual cash—which Thekla knew. I supposed they might have thought the information they needed could be beaten out of me, but that would do them no good. If I didn’t also give the correct password, Steve, my ever-faithful bank manager, instead of completing the transfer, would call Roderick on the cell phone he had in his coat pocket, and Roderick would then call the cops. Not bad, huh? I didn’t fancy having to exercise that part of the plan, however...

  I was faced with the option: keep on, or turn and run. I chose the former.

  “Thekla?” I whispered again.

  Nothing—except darkness and silence.

  I was about to enter the apartment, feeling around for a light switch, when I heard an explosion of noise behind me. Someone bolted from the stairs leading to the floor above, and in about five steps, they were by me and heading down at a rate which made their feet on the steps sound like a drum roll. Springing for the landing, I tried to catch a glimpse of whoever it was but got my big feet tangled up in the handle of a broom, which had been dropped in the middle of the floor—probably for the express purpose of getting my big feet tangled up in it.

  Feeling my way carefully back to the entrance to Thekla’s apartment, I searched for a light switch and eventually found it behind the door.

  I stood in the middle of a corridor leading off to the left and right with doorways at intervals, all closed except for one at the left end. It had to be the living room, judging by
what I could see from the meagre light spilling into it from the hall.

  The growing storm outside rattled a window sash somewhere in the apartment, causing me to jump involuntarily. Once I figured out what I’d heard, my pulse went down half a notch, but my nerves were still singing. I tiptoed towards the door of the living room.

  Somewhere ahead a clock ticked loudly, amplified by the silence around me.

  “Thekla?” I said, louder this time.

  Thick curtains had been pulled across the windows in the living room, blocking off all outside light. The air stank of stale cigarette smoke—and something else I couldn’t identify but which put my nerves even more on edge.

  As my eyes once again became accustomed to the darkness, I could make out a floor lamp dead ahead. When I reached under the lamp shade, it felt warm. Carefully switching it on, I got ready to run at the slightest movement. Nothing happened, and I let my breath out slowly through clenched teeth.

  Thekla lay on her back at the end of the sofa near one of the tall windows on my right. I got the strong impression that she had posted herself there to watch for my arrival.

  She would not have seen it, because she was already very dead, a large knife stuck into of the middle of her chest. No blood was flowing, and what lay in a puddle around her had already reached the sticky stage as I found out, when I accidentally put my hand in it while checking for a pulse.

  Holding my other hand over my mouth in the classic gesture, I ran to find the bathroom.

  ***

  As you might expect from the way my luck had been running, I only managed to make it to the bathroom doorway before unloading the contents of my stomach all over the floor. After a few sips of water from my cupped hand, I got a severe case of the shakes.

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs came through the open apartment door and a surge of panic shot through me. Here I was alone in an apartment with someone who had just been brutally murdered. For a moment, I thought about flight but immediately gave up that idea as totally stupid. Whenever I see someone do that in a movie, the screenplay loses all credibility for me, and I usually air my disapproval verbally which in a theater totally embarrasses my otherwise un-embarrassable wife. (“How can this guy be so stupid? Doesn’t he know how easy it will be to catch him? What a jerk!”)