Chapter 9
Vienna
Sitting in an interview room, Simon was wrapped in a blanket, holding a cup of coffee. It was strange how, no matter where you were, public facilities always served the same, weak nasty brew. Someone, somewhere must be making a fortune out of slowly poisoning the developed world.
Richard’s chauffeur had called an ambulance after the assailant fled, but in truth, there was nothing they could do. They were followed by the police who sealed off the area and insisted that Simon accompany them to the nearest station. His interview had been perfunctory; he could not give them any details about the attacker because he had not really seen him. It was hard to give them any information about a man in black in the middle of the night. He had been asked about his meeting with Richard and brushed them off with talk of college old boys, suspecting that mention of the Order of the Golden Eagle and the 12 secret treasures would not further his cause.
And then the shock had taken over. His body, like any other animal’s, had been flooded with the hormone epinephrine as the attack started, giving him heightened ability to either fight or flee. But, as the danger had subsided when his attacker fled, so did the flow of hormones, leaving his body exhausted from its recent overdose. He began to struggle to focus on the questions, his mind racing, but he was not sure where it was going. He started to sweat, his heart racing again.
The officer, sympathetic for once, had stopped the interview, seeing his distress. A blanket was provided, along with the drink, and Simon was left on his own, while a doctor was sought. Left on his own, he had time to think. Why would anyone want to kill Richard? Well, he didn’t know him that well, so there could be many reasons. Business deal gone bad, affair gone wrong, maybe he’d just really pissed someone off.
But if that was the case, why had the assassin turned his gun on Simon. He couldn’t see anything about him, he was no danger, so why try to shoot him? While he knew nothing really about Richard, he did know about himself. He did no business, was not having an affair (more’s the pity), and hadn’t really upset anyone, so there was no real reason to want him dead.
In the 14th century, William of Ockham had famously come up with his razor, a philosophical principle which, simply put, states that the simplest explanation is the best. In Simon’s case, there was only one simple explanation, and he did not like it. There was something about the Order of the Golden Eagle that was leading someone to kill its members. A membership which counted him among it. Dr Fleicher, Richard, and two attempts on his own life, the Order obviously had some powerful enemies.
What was it about the Order which could upset someone so much? Well, any organisation which controlled such important objects, assuming they actually existed, would certainly attract jealousy. But was jealousy enough to kill for? Well, jealous lovers killed every day, but those were crimes of passion, not acts of cold blooded murder like the one he had witnessed this evening.
Thinking back to his conversation with Richard, he thought of the lance. Its loss had seemed to upset the old man, but he did not seem concerned. What was it he had said? “The Order has certain resources.” They were going to get it back. Richard was obviously expected to find the Lance again and return it to Vienna. That must be why he was killed, to stop him reclaiming the Lance. First the criminals had taken it, then they decided to take out the competition. Unfortunately for Simon, he was the competition, or at least they thought he was.
And that created problems. If these people thought Simon was a danger to them, they would obviously not hesitate to kill him. Now, Simon knew he was no threat, but how could he convince them of that? The only way would be to find them, and that was way beyond his pay-grade. He could hardly take out an advert in a newspaper informing them that he was no danger and could they please leave him alone. The only way he would be safe, was when they had been found, either by the police, or by Simon himself. He was snookered. There was no way out of this situation, apart from finding the criminals.
The enormity of his new reality was dawning on him, when the door opened. Instead of the sympathetic officer who had seen him earlier, he was now joined by the blonde inspector from the museum, still freakishly attractive despite the late hour. Although, her eyes were no longer the sparkling blue he remembered, they were bloodshot, as if from tears or maybe it was just the hour.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” Obviously she had chosen the business-like approach over sympathy and subtlety.
“You know who I am.” he replied. “Simon Pelham. I teach Roman history at Oxford.”
“Do not push me Dr Pelham, I am not in the mood. You arrive here yesterday lunchtime, and you try to have a meeting with a dead man. You then go out for dinner and your companion is killed. You are like the angel of death, Dr Pelham and I want to know why.”
Simon wanted to know why as well, and he thought he was on his way, but did he want to share it with this policewoman. On the plus side, he might be able to get her protection, and any help might lead to these criminals being caught earlier, and not being able to hunt him down and kill him. On the other hand, what could he tell her, he was now a member of the Order, and, although he was not sure, he was pretty sure that was meant to be a secret. Furthermore, how could he persuade her of the truth when most of the objects Richard had talked about did not, as far as the world knew, exist.
“Before you try to think of your next story, or decide to carry on bluffing about Ancient History and Oxford, Dr Pelham, you should know something. Richard zu Stahlberg was my father and I will not stop until I find his killer. And that means that I will follow any lead to reach him. At the moment Dr Pelham, you are my only lead, and I will make life very unpleasant for you unless you tell me everything. And you may as well start with why this box was on my father’s desk when I went to his apartment”
She handed over a small package, wrapped in brown paper, Simon’s name on it in an elegant hand, the same writing as the envelope sent to the hotel earlier. The walls of the small, pale green room seemed to draw closer, the light from the fluorescent strip suddenly seeming colder. The frosted, barred window offered no comfort, looking out into the blackness outside. What could be in the box? It probably wasn’t a birthday present, given that his birthday was in July, and all the messages he had received recently had brought decidedly unpleasant outcomes. Also, should he open it in front of her? What if there was something which he couldn’t explain? What if it got him into more trouble?
And yet, what if she could help? He would need help; otherwise he would end up dead, or on the run. Neither of those seemed like a good option. Feeling trapped once more, an emotion he was becoming uncomfortably familiar with, he decided to level with her.
“Let me start at the beginning.” He led her through the letter, the attack, his solving of the code, the trip to the bank, his trip to Austria and dinner. He told her of Richard’s conversation, about the Order, the treasures and the Lance. And then he took her through Richard’s last minutes, how they had planned to meet again and go to the museum. Maybe that was where he had planned to give Simon the package.
“Did he give you any reason to think he was in danger?”
“None at all, he seemed quite relaxed.”
“Can you think of any reason why this happened? Did he mention anything that you can think of? Anything at all?”
Simon decided it was time to change the direction of the conversation. Richard was dead, and he was alive, recognition of that fact would be welcome, along with some protection from the homicidal maniacs who were chasing him. He told the inspector of his recent thoughts, that the deaths of her father and Dr Fleicher were related to the theft of the lance. And, in case it was not obvious, he made sure that she understood that he was next on the list. Someone was trying to stop the Order from recovering the lance, and they were not above stooping to murder.
Elena sat there, her hands supporting her head, gazing into the distance at a spot just above Simon’s head. It was scarcely plausible the story this academic told her, and yet, something about it rang true. Her father had secrets, that much she did know. There were times when she was not allowed in his study, unannounced visitors from all parts of the world. Sudden trips to undisclosed places. She had never doubted his love, and had grown to accept that side of his personality, just as he had come to accept her stubbornness.
What if it was true? If he was a member of the Order, it was presumably for a reason. If he was right, maybe he could help them solve this, help her avenge her father’s death. They certainly needed help. Forensics had turned up nothing in the museum, and she was far from confident that they would find anything outside the restaurant. Maybe this was not the sort of case that regular police-work could crack, maybe a different sort of approach was needed.
And what of the doctor’s safety? With an assassin, and a skilled one at that, in the city, she was worried about her ability to protect him here, and Dr Pelham had just become something highly worthy of protection. She could keep him in the police station, but would he be safe there? What was to stop the killer infiltrating them here? She was under no illusions about the skills of the average Viennese copper. If she lost him, she would lose her one link to this crime and her chance to solve it.
It was a risk, but she would have to take it. Maybe it was the grief, but she could think of no other alternative. Getting up, “Follow me” she told him. “And don’t forget the package?”
“Where are we going?” he asked, sweeping it into his arms?
“Somewhere safe. You and I are going to be seeing rather a lot of each other until this is over, Dr Pelham” she said opening the door and sweeping down the corridor, leaving him to trail in her wake.
Until next time...
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