Vienna Blood Read Free Page A

appeared.
    “Inspector—your assistant is here.”
    Rheinhardt called out, “All right—I'm on my way.” Then, turning to Pfundtner, he added more softly, “Remember, Herr Director, tread only on the stones.” Then he dropped his empty notebook back inside his coat pocket.
    The two men made their way back up the slope, occasionally stretching out their arms to keep their balance. When they reached the door, the director politely allowed Rheinhardt to go through first. The doctor was still standing next to his seated patient. Walter Gundlach gestured Rheinhardt toward the hallway, where young Haussmann, the inspector's assistant, was waiting. He looked flushed and was breathing heavily as though he had been running. Without saying a word, Rheinhardt joined his junior, and they walked along the corridor until they could speak without being overheard.
    “Please accept my apologies, sir. There was a—”
    Rheinhardt did not want to hear any excuses. Haussmann was only a little late. Rheinhardt was disinclined to reprimand his assistant and so cut his apology off with a question: “Do you know what's happened here?”
    “No, sir. I left the security office as soon as I learned of your whereabouts.”
    Haussmann took out his notebook and waited for the inspector to speak. His pencil hovered over the blank paper. Rheinhardt's baggy eyes suddenly sparkled with a playful light.
    “The victim is a thirty-foot female—approximately five hundred fifty pounds. She is known only as Hildegard and is said to be a personal favorite of the emperor.”
    The young man stopped writing and looked up at his superior.
    “You are joking, sir?”
    “It's a snake, Haussmann—a snake!”
    “A snake?”
    “An anaconda, to be precise. Death was probably instantaneousafter decapitation. Subsequently the intruder mutilated his victim by cutting off her tail. He gained entry into the snake-pit after knocking out one of the keepers, Herr Arnoldt. He's the poor fellow with the head bandage. Get a police photographer down here at once and prepare a floor plan. Take impressions of the director's shoes and those worn by the two keepers—Herr Arnoldt and Herr Gundlach—then see if you can get a cast of any prints in the snake-pit. Herr Arnoldt has lost his memory, but the doctor says that there's a fair chance it will return. I'll try interviewing him in a couple of hours: he might have more to say by then.”
    The assistant looked up from his notebook. “This is all very unusual, sir.”
    “Haussmann, you have a gift for understatement.”
    Rheinhardt turned and began walking toward the exit.
    “Sir?”
    “Yes, Haussmann?”
    “Where are you going?”
    “To inspect the perimeter fence for damage.” Rheinhardt paused for a moment and then added, “Oh yes, and see if you can find a murder weapon. If it's here, it'll be easy to find. Something large, I suspect—an axe or some sort of sword.”
    After the stifling heat of the reptile house, the fresh morning air was a delight.

3
    T HE DINING ROOM WAS large and grandly decorated. An ornate chandelier hung from a high ceiling, and one of the walls was dominated by an intricately carved Biedermeier chest. It was a massive piece of furniture that stood almost as high as the cornicing. Liebermann—a man whose aesthetic preferences were decidedly modern—found its involutions too fussy and its stolid virtues dull. On the opposite wall was a large canvas by a popular landscape artist depicting trees and a distant horizon of snowcapped peaks. It was blandly titled Vienna Wood.
    Since his engagement to Clara, Liebermann had found himself eating with the Weiss family at least once a week. Whenever he chose to visit Clara, Jacob or Esther (Clara's parents) would invariably insist that he stay for supper. Dining with the Weisses was not as exacting as dining with his own family—which was always a somewhat tense affair—but it represented, nevertheless, an obligation that was beginning to pall.