bedside table and bed in the hospital. Furthermore,
he had the motive . . .’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, they loved each other, Gudbrand and
Helena. But she was to be Christopher’s.’
‘They were engaged?’
‘No, no. But Christopher was crazy about Helena.
Everyone knew that. Helena was from a rich
family that had been ruined after her father had
ended up in prison, and a marriage into the
Brockhard family was her and her mother’s way of
getting back on their feet. And you know how it is
– a young woman has certain obligations to her
family. At least, she did, at that time.’
‘Do you know where Helena Lang is today?’
‘But you haven’t touched the strudel, my dear,’
the widow exclaimed.
Harry took a big bite, chewed and nodded in
approval to Frau Mayer.
‘No,’ she said. ‘That I don’t know. When it
became known that she had been with Johansen on
the night of the murder, she was investigated, but
they didn’t find anything. She stopped working at
the Rudolf II Hospital and moved to Vienna. She
started up her own sewing business. Yes, she was
a strong, enterprising woman. I occasionally saw
her walking in the streets here. But in the mid-
fifties she sold up and after that I didn’t hear any
more. Someone said she had gone abroad. But I
know who you can ask – if she’s alive, mind you.
Beatrice Hoffmann, she worked as the house help
for the Lang family. After the murder the family
could no longer afford her and she worked for a
time at the Rudolf II.’
Fritz was already on the telephone again.
A fly buzzed desperately around the window. It
was following its own microscopic logic and kept
banging into the glass without understanding quite
why. Harry stood up.
‘Strudel . . . ?’
‘Next time, Frau Mayer. Right now we don’t have
the time.’
‘Why’s that?’ she asked. ‘This happened more
than half a century ago. It isn’t going anywhere.’
‘Well . . .’ Harry said, watching the black fly
under the lace curtains in the sun.
Fritz received a call on his mobile on the way to
the police station and did a highly improper U-turn
which made the motorists behind them jump on
their horns.
‘Beatrice Hoffmann is alive,’ he said accelerating
through the lights. ‘She’s at an old people’s home
in Mauerbachstraße. That’s up in the Vienna
Woods.’
The BMW turbo squealed with glee. The blocks
of flats gave way to half-timbered houses,
vineyards and finally the green deciduous forest,
with the afternoon sun playing on the leaves and
creating a magical atmosphere as they sped along
avenues lined with beech and chestnut trees.
A nurse led them out into the large garden.
Beatrice was sitting on a bench in the shade of an
enormous, gnarled oak tree. A straw hat dominated
the tiny, wrinkled face. Fritz spoke with her in
German and explained why they had come. The old
woman inclined her head with a smile.
‘I’m ninety years old,’ she said in a shaky voice.
‘And tears still come to my eyes when I think about
Fräulein Helena.’
‘Is she still alive?’ Harry asked in his schoolboy
German. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘What’s that he says?’ she asked with her hand
behind her ear. Fritz explained.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know where Helena is.
She’s sitting up there.’ She pointed up into the
treetops.
There you go, Harry thought. Senile. But the old lady hadn’t finished speaking.
‘With St Peter. Good Catholics, the Langs, but
Helena was the angel in the family. As I said, it
always brings tears to my eyes thinking about it.’
‘Do you remember Gudbrand Johansen?’ Harry
asked.
‘Uriah,’ Beatrice said. ‘I only met him once. A
handsome, charming young man, but sick
unfortunately. Who would have believed that such
a nice, polite boy would have been able to kill?
Their emotions ran away with them, yes, with
Helena too. She never got over him, the poor thing.
The police never found him and although Helena
was never accused of anything, André Brockhard
saw to it that she was thrown out of the hospital.
She moved into town and did voluntary work for
the Archbishop until the family was in such dire
financial straits that she was forced to find paid
work. So she started a sewing business. Within
two years she had fourteen women sewing for her
full-time. Her father was released but couldn’t find
work after the Jewish banker scandal. Frau Lang
took the family’s fall from grace worst. She died