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note of desperation catching in his throat. “Inspector, surely you are not thinking that one of our pupils is responsible for Brother Stanislav’s murder?”
    “I must consider all possibilities, Father.”
    “God preserve us.”
    “Perhaps you would be so kind as to ask some of the other monks if they can remember any child whom they think might have harbored ill feelings toward Brother Stanislav?”
    The abbott nodded.
    “Did Brother Stanislav’s ministry bring him into contact with individuals suffering from mental illness?”
    “He visited hospitals during the course of his work.”
    “Was he ever threatened?”
    “By a lunatic?”
    “Yes.”
    “I don’t know. It is possible.”
    “If he had been threatened, would he have told anyone—a fellow Piarist in whom he confided?”
    The abbot shook his head. “Stanislav treated all his brothers in Christ equally. He did not cultivate special friendships.” Then, after a lengthy pause, he said, “Inspector? Have you ever encountered anything like this before? What I mean to say is… Brother Stanislav’s head?” He winced as he recalled the decapitation and blood. “It looked as if his head had been ripped from his body.”
    “I have seen many terrible things, Father.”
    “But this… have you seen anything quite like this before?”
    “No, Father. I haven’t.”
    “If I didn’t know better…” The old man clenched his fist and pressed his knuckles to his lips.
    “What?” Rheinhardt prompted.
    “If I didn’t know better,” the abbot repeated, “I would say it was the work of the devil.”
    Rheinhardt rose from his chair. “Thank you for your assistance, Father.”
    Before closing the door, Rheinhardt paused. The abbot’s eyes must have been registering the room in which he was seated, but what he was actually seeing in his mind was clearly something quite different: a hideous force, come from hell to unleash its evil power on the doorstep of his church.

5
    C OUNCILLOR JULIUS SCHMIDT; HIS nephew and assistant, Fabian; Councillor Burke Faust; and Hofrat Holzknecht were seated in one of the upper chambers of the town hall.
    The agenda had been dispensed with, and a large pile of documents had now been signed and stamped with official seals. Hofrat Holzknecht was going over the paperwork, while Fabian distributed cognac and cigars.
    “All in order,” said Holzknecht. The title with which he was distinguished—Hofrat—had been introduced in the eighteenth century for high officials. It had come to represent not only social elevation but the power to dispense favors (or what the Viennese referred to as protektion) .
    Schmidt and Faust—both councillors of the same rank—were political allies, but they were not friends. Faust was, on the whole, indifferent to Schmidt. Faust was a pragmatist, and Schmidt’s personal qualities were largely irrelevant as far as he was concerned. The reverse, however, was not true. Schmidt was acutely aware of everything that made up the person of Burke Faust, and each constituent part inspired resentment. He resented Faust’s diamond ring, his expensive wristwatch, and his edelweiss tiepin; he resented his spotless frock coat, the smell of his Italian cologne, and his relaxed, superior attitude; he resented his spacious Hietzing villa, his full head of hair, and his family fortune. But most of all, he resented the fact that Faust was almost certainly going to get the job that he, Schmidt, wanted—a key position on Mayor Lueger’s special advisory panel.
    Faust had recently created a stir by writing an article for Die Reichspost on the “social question,” an eloquently argued piece of polemical writing that not only found a sympathetic audience among the mayor’s inner circle but impressed the “Lord God of Vienna” himself. Mayor Lueger needed the services of a talented propagandist, and, luckily, one had appeared. Faust had started writing his piece as soon as old Horngacher had announced that he was