Free Requiem in Vienna by J. Sydney Jones

Their discussion was continually interrupted by the rattle of trains overhead. Each time one passed, their wineglasses danced about the chipped table. After taking a sampling of the wine, Werthen left his glass on the table to dance.
    A fee and plan of action were agreed upon: the two would maintain a half-day surveillance each on Mahler. Leitner at the Court Opera indicated that tonight’s performance would be the final one of the season, to be conducted by Hans Richter as Mahler was still recovering from his injury. Thus the services of Prokop and Meier would, at first, be restricted to watching the composer’s flat. Werthen wisely brought a recent news photo of the composer with him, for these two would surely never have heard of the man. Another surprise, however, for Meier turned out to be a great fan ofoperetta; Strauss’s
Die Fledermaus
had played at the Hofoper in honor of the man’s passing, and Meier had been in attendance, seeing Mahler conduct the performance himself.
    The agreement was marked by handshakes and a large swig of the rancid wine.
    Two hours later, Werthen was still suffering from that ritual. He and Gross were on their way to an appointment with Anna von Mildenburg at her Ringstrasse apartment. Von Mildenburg lived in the Sühnhaus, at Schotten Ring 7, the northwestern section of that boulevard. The address seemed ominous, for the apartment was built on the ruins of the Ring Theater, which had burned to the ground in 1881, killing hundreds of those attending the night’s performance. Werthen remembered that incident only too vividly. A teenager, he and his family were in Vienna for the Christmas season and had tickets to that evening’s performance of Offenbach’s
Tales of Hoffman.
But his maman had come down with a bout of intestinal influenza and their father decided that it would be ungentlemanly for the rest of the family—his younger brother, Max, had still been alive at that time—to be enjoying themselves while his wife was bedridden. For once, his father’s “gentlemanly” code—forever aping what he thought to be the mannerisms of the titled classes—served them well.
    The emperor himself had ordered the building of this “House of Atonement,” a magnificent structure combining elements of Gothic and Renaissance styles, surmounted by churchlike spires. The building contained apartments, commercial properties, and a memorial chapel as a remembrance to those who had died. Despite its elegance and its quality address, the Sühnhaus was always a safe bet for a quick rental, for the Viennese were a superstitious lot, and the address was not a favored one. But for someone who had the cash and was in urgent need of upscale lodgings, the Sühnhaus was a popular short-term address. The singer surely had enough for the monthly rent: Berthe had informed him that vonMildenburg had been hired at the unheard of sum of 14,000 gulden, as much as some advisors to the emperor earned.
    Their appointment had been arranged through the singer’s agent. Berthe had easily found the man’s name in the annual agent’s list and had made the call while Werthen had been engaging Prokop and Meier. As far as the agent or the singer knew, Werthen, accompanied by his “assistant” Gross, had a commission from Mahler. Berthe had wisely left the nature of the commission up in the air.
    (“A fine addition, that wife of yours,” Gross had muttered as they had earlier left the Josefstadt to walk to their appointment. For Gross, that was high praise indeed.)
    Von Mildenburg lived on the top floor, overlooking the broad Ring. The Stock Exchange was just across the street, while a close neighbor on the same side of the boulevard was the Police Praesidium.
    They stood in front of the door to the singer’s apartment and Werthen touched the bronze clapper that was shaped like a Dutch clog against the doorplate. The singer herself answered the door a moment later: Werthen recognized her, for he had seen her in