Deadly Communion Read Online Free PDF Page B

night, and you never troubled to ask her where she’d been?’
    ‘Do you have a daughter, inspector?’
    ‘I have two.’
    ‘Do you? Well, I have three.’ Zeiler suddenly corrected himself. ‘No, I have only two now. Adele is dead. The two I have left — Trude and Inna. Trude is sixteen and has bronchial problems. She’s never been very strong — terrible phlegm that sits on her chest. Inna is thirteen and can’t walk properly. It’s something to do with her joints. Nothing can be done for her. I used to work in a timber yard in Favoriten, but I lost my job when the proprietor went bankrupt and I haven’t been able to get another since. My wife gets occasional work at the laundry, but not very often. Life hasn’t been easy, inspector. Adele was a sweet girl. She did what she could …’ Zeiler bit his lower lip. ‘She did what she could for all of us. We didn’t like it but what could we do? We either accepted Adele’s help, or we starved. What could we do?’
    ‘Are you saying that she became a …’ Rheinhardt’s sensitivity did not permit him to complete the sentence.
    ‘A prostitute? No. She wasn’t a prostitute. But she knew how to get a man’s attention and gentlemen gave her gifts — never money, you understand — just gifts, and sometimes she didn’t come home. Adele would take the gifts to the pawnshop. We needed the money. Inspector, I hope that you are never put in my position. No father should have to go through what I’ve gone through. That’s why I didn’t ask, you understand? I didn’t need to ask — and in truth I didn’t want to know.’ Zeiler sucked on the cigarette and, looking towards the window, continued: ‘She was stabbed. They said she’d been stabbed?’
    ‘Yes.’ Rheinhardt replied. He was reluctant to disclose the details of Adele’s murder and moved the conversation on: ‘When was the last time you saw Adele?’
    ‘Yesterday afternoon.’
    ‘Where did she say she was going?’
    ‘To see Rainmayr.’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Herr Rainmayr — he’s an artist. She modelled for him.’ As Rheinhardt was writing the name down, Zeiler added: ‘But it wouldn’t have been him, inspector. Not Herr Rainmayr.’
    ‘Why do you say that?’
    ‘She’s been going to see him for years. Besides, he’s a decent man. He once paid for a specialist to see Trude when she was very ill.’
    Rheinhardt grimaced.
    ‘I know this is difficult, Herr Zeiler, but …’
    ‘You want to know if he had relations with her, if that was part of their arrangement?’ Zeiler flicked some ash onto the floor. ‘I don’t know, inspector. Like I said, I didn’t ask.’
    ‘Did you suspect …’ Rheinhardt’s sentence trailed off. Zeiler was not going to share his thoughts on the matter. ‘Do you know where Herr Rainmayr lives?’
    ‘Yes. He has a studio somewhere in Lange Gasse.’

7
    H AUSSMANN MARCHED PAST CARYATIDS holding up lintels and stucco façades crowded with putti. The rooftops seemed to be teeming with activity: statues of fabulous creatures, goddesses and legendary heroes disporting themselves against a darkening sky. He had spent all day searching the city for shops that sold the silver-acorn hatpin. Not one of the milliners or jewellers in the first district had recognised the design. Standing on a corner, Haussmann consulted his crumpled list of addresses.
    How could he be expected to find all the distributors of hatpins in Vienna? Milliners, jewellers, stallholders, street vendors, junk shops — there were simply too many possibilities. Further, there was no evidence to suggest that the murderer had purchased the acorn hatpin recently. It might have been in his possession for years, a family heirloom belonging to his great-grandmother!
    Haussmann crossed the Hoher Markt — an open square dominated by a massive fountain which commemorated the marriage of Mary and Joseph. The holy couple were protected by angels and a bronze baldachin resting on four lofty Corinthian