Vienna Blood Read Free

director.
    Rheinhardt thought that he detected a slight catch in the director's voice. He did not find it difficult to sympathize with his companion.
    The snake had been cut into three sections: head, trunk, and tail. These body parts were ordered correctly, perfectly aligned, and separated by gaps of approximately one yard—they had been arranged in a curve that followed the arc of the water's edge. The effect was striking and curiously aesthetic. Taken together, the three segments were longer than a streetcar. The central section had a diameter wide enough to accommodate a small child.
    When the two men had completed their descent, Rheinhardt clambered onto a large rock near the snake's head. Hildegard's eyes and nostrils were set high up on her flat pointed skull, and a delicate forked tongue protruded from between powerful jaws that had been proppedopen with a small stone. The device seemed to serve no purpose other than artistic effect. Her skin was green—the same shade as the water—and mottled with black egg-shaped patches. Rheinhardt was fascinated by the textured surface, each scale a tiny blister of jet or obsidian. The snake's innards were revealed in vivid cross section where the central segment had been cleanly sliced.
    “Extraordinary,” said Rheinhardt. “Quite extraordinary.”
    “It must have been a madman,” cried the director. “A lunatic escaped from Am Steinhof.”
    The soil around the water's edge was light brown and stained with dark splashes of ophidian ichor.
    “Is it a python?” asked Rheinhardt.
    “Good heavens, no,” said the director. Hildegard is—was—an anaconda, a water boa.”
    “Nonvenomous?”
    “Quite so. Eunectes murinus is a constrictor. In the wild, murinus lies submerged underwater and grabs prey as it arrives to drink.”
    “Then it kills by asphyxiation?”
    “Yes, or by drowning. The jaws are very strong. It can hold a large animal down with relative ease.”
    “How large?”
    “An adult deer would not escape those jaws. Large anacondas like Hildegard have even been known to kill big cats—like jaguars.”
    “What about human beings?”
    “Some attacks have been confirmed, but it is an exceedingly rare occurrence.”
    Rheinhardt contemplated the snake's enormous size. He only just stopped himself from uttering What a monster! fearing that he would hurt the director's feelings.
    “How long is Hildegard?”
    “Nearly thirty feet. Pythons grow longer, though they are not so heavy.”
    “Even if one knew that anacondas rarely attack human beings, entering her domain would still have been a daunting prospect.”
    “Quite so,” said the director yet again. “But the villain would never have been in any real danger. This pit has been Hildegard's home for more than twenty years. She is—” The director corrected himself. “She was accustomed to human company—which almost always signified the arrival of food. In spite of appearances, she was a very docile creature.”
    Rheinhardt scratched his head.
    “Herr Pfundtner, have any of the keepers reported seeing anything irregular—a patron acting suspiciously, or showing excessive interest in Hildegard?”
    “No. Besides, Hildegard had so many devoted admirers that it would be difficult to say.”
    “What about persons who might bear the zoo itself some grudge? Do you know of any?”
    “Inspector, we are the most well-loved institution in Vienna.”
    “Indeed, but I was thinking that perhaps you might have dismissed a keeper, who—”
    “No!” interrupted the director. “No one has been dismissed. And relations between the board of governors and the keepers have always been excellent. You mark my words, Inspector,” said Pfundtner, pointing his finger at the mutilated anaconda. “This abomination is the work of a madman!”
    “You may well be right, Herr Director,” said Rheinhardt, taking his notebook from his pocket. As he did so, the door to the snake-pit opened and Walter Gundlach