The Devil's Opera(131)

Misch took the knife over to his work bench and bent over it with some small tools. A minute later he was back at the window examining the uncovered tang of the blade from which he had removed the hilt.

“Ah.” There was a very satisfied tone in the smith’s voice.

“What? What?” Honister demanded.

“Definitely made in Venice. I recognize the master’s mark.”

Honister felt his heart jump to a faster rhythm.

“That is what I wanted to hear!”

The smith peered closely at the blade and tsk’d. “Blood on the blade.” He started to wipe it off.

“No! Wait, Erhard!” Honister jumped forward as a thought burst forth in his mind. “That may be evidence. Just put the knife back together for me. I’ve got to check something else out.”

Moments later he was outside looking for a cab. And less than ten minutes later by his pocket watch he was jumping off in front of the morgue.

“Wait for me! I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Bursting through the doors, he looked around. “Is Dr. Schlegel here?” he demanded of the attendant on duty.

“No, but I can have him called in if you like.”

“I don’t have time for that. You’ll do. Take me to the corpse storage room again and pull out the body of Nils Svenson.”

In just a few moments, he was closely examining the stab wound in Swenson’s back and comparing it to the knife. Same shape, no wider than the width of the blade. He felt the glow of conviction increasing.

“That’s all I needed. Thanks.”

Hurrying to the cab, he shouted, “Get me to the hospital project site, as fast as you can!”

* * *

Gotthilf was nonplussed. He and Byron arrived at the construction site not long after leaving the morgue. Gunther Bauer met them and said tersely, “Got something you guys need to see. Come on.”

He led them across the site where the few workers Schiffer still had were trying to clean up the debris of the disaster, until they arrived at the side of the existing hospital. He pointed at something sticking out of the wall.

“That,” he said, “was not there before the crane exploded.” Then he crossed his arms and waited.

So now the two of them were staring at a limb of wood that at first glance was just growing out of the side of the building. They looked at each other. Gotthilf drew some consolation in the fact that Byron appeared to be just as bemused as he was.

“So, a tree limb,” Gotthilf said.

“Yep.”

“Sticking out of the hospital building.”

“Yep.”

“Hole in the middle of it.”

“Yep.”

Byron was being especially laconic this morning.

Gotthilf looked at the piece of limb, and realized that it was darker on the outside than bark would normally account for. He ran a finger across the top, and raised it to display a smudge. He sniffed his finger.

“Soot.”

Byron’s eyes snapped open wide.

“Oh, God, no.”

The up-timer bent over and smelled the hole in the limb. Gotthilf was now very bemused.

Byron straightened with a look of mingled disgust and nausea.

“Send for the police photographer.”

Gotthilf looked at Bauer, who nodded and took off to do that very thing.

Gotthilf looked back at his partner. “So, what is it?”

“Bad news.”

“Will you stop with the excessive terseness?” Gotthilf demanded. “Just tell me what it is, and keep talking until I understand it.”

“That,” Byron leveled a forefinger at the obtrusive tree limb, “is a bomb. Or, I should say, it was supposed to be a bomb, but it misfired and became a rocket instead. Smell the hole.”

Gotthilf bent and smelled an unmistakable scent.

“Burnt gunpowder.”

“Yep.” Byron whistled tunelessly for a few seconds. “Didn’t you say something earlier about some gunpowder being stolen?”

“Yah,” Gotthilf said with a grimace. “From Farkas’ gun shop.”

“Well, we may have just found it. Too bad we can’t do the chemical analysis to prove it.” Byron shook his head, then continued, “Now, if that thing was filled with gunpowder, and it ended up there,” he pointed to the wall, “where is the most likely spot for it to have come from?” He pointed out.

Gotthilf followed the finger’s line, and became nauseated himself.

“You think the boiler’s firebox…”

“That’s what I think. I think we now have direct evidence of sabotage, and we now also know why Svenson was killed.”

Gotthilf followed the line of reasoning. He couldn’t disagree with it.

“Okay, I’ll buy that much. But why was Svenson’s body left behind?”