Villa von Düchtel
1906
Felix grimaced at Kaspar’s question. “How many people hate you enough to want you dead? I imagine half the people in this room could be included in the number,” he said. Cold stares from nearly everyone met his answer. “Forgive me. I meant to lighten the mood.”
“It’s not appropriate,” Birgit said.
“Who do you think hates you enough to want you dead, Kaspar?” I asked.
“I’d rather not discuss it publicly.”
Ursula scowled. “Are you admitting you knew you have enemies and still refused to take any precautions—”
“Slinging accusations at each other isn’t going to help anything,” I said. “Kaspar, you and Felix come with me. We’ll go somewhere more private to talk.”
A murmur of discontent rippled through the room, but no one objected outright. I led the gentlemen to the sitting room, where my copy of the Iliad and my lexicon were still lying open on the table in front of the windows. None of us sat down.
“Tell me what you didn’t want anyone else to hear,” I said.
“It’s nothing, really,” Kaspar said. “I’d just prefer not to go through the sordid details of my life in front of a crowd.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Continue.”
“You asked about enemies and the truth is, I’m racking my brain and cannot think of a single person. I admit I’m neither especially kind nor easy to get along with, so while I have scores of acquaintances, I have few close friends.”
“I’d say I’m the only one,” Felix said softly.
“That’s probably true,” Kaspar said. “It could be claimed that I’m excessively competitive and that, as a result, I sometimes cross the bounds of propriety when I want to win something.”
“Such as?”
“There may have been occasions on which I’ve encouraged my rivals to drink rather too much the night before a fight.”
“Boxing?” I asked. He nodded.
“Encouraged might not be the right word,” Felix said. “More like tricked, but even so, none of them was angry enough to want you dead.”
“Most of them never knew I did it.”
“Quite right,” Felix said. “You’re capable of discretion when you think it’s necessary.”
It was an interesting choice of words. “What about matters of business?”
“I don’t work, of course, but do have some modest financial interests; and when my investments are going well, I sometimes lord the fact over my acquaintances, but that’s hardly grounds for murder.” He tugged at his collar. “I’ve lost my wife and can no longer hide from any ugly truths about myself. Even so, I cannot give you a single name. I don’t know anyone who wants me dead. If I did, I’d tell you. My wife has been murdered and though I didn’t pull the trigger, I’m as responsible as the man who did.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, “and sorry that you had to wit ness such a violent act. What happens now that Sigrid’s gone? You’ll inherit her fortune, will you not?”
“Such as it is,” he said. “She had a small amount of capital, but the bulk of her money came from an allowance given by her mother. I won’t be better off with her dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Were you in love with your wife?”
“What’s that to do with anything?” Felix asked, taking a step toward me.
“His relationship with Sigrid could prove central to what happened.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Kaspar said.
“I’m not suggesting you did. However, if your marriage wasn’t a happy one, either of you might have become entangled with other individuals.”
Felix stepped back. “And those individuals could’ve decided they’d prefer a world where Kaspar and Sigrid were no longer married.”
“Precisely,” I said.
“I’m not having an affair,” Kaspar said. “As for Sigrid, I haven’t the slightest idea whether she was or wasn’t. It didn’t matter to me one way or another. We weren’t so passionately in love as we were at the beginning of our marriage, but we’d reached a comfortable place together. There was no trouble between us.”
While Kaspar spoke, I watched Felix’s face. He was looking at the ground, clenching his jaw. I turned back to Kaspar. “What did the two of you discuss in the sleigh?”
“Nothing of consequence.”
“Sigrid was quite fixated on the excursion,” I said. “It was clear she was after more than a pleasure ride.”
“We bantered about our differing opinions of mad King Ludwig.”
I didn’t believe him. “Nothing else?”
“Nothing else.”
“If you withhold facts, it will be all the harder for my husband and me to bring the killer to justice. I need you to promise to tell me anything you remember that might be pertinent.”
“Of course,” he mumbled.
“Anything. No matter how embarrassing or shocking.”
“I will. You can count on that.”
I doubted very much I could count on Kaspar, but for now, I didn’t believe there was more to get out of him. I let him and Felix go and set my sights on someone else: Max. Ursula and Cécile were still in the study, but the others had dispersed. A footman told me Max had gone to his room. I climbed the stairs and knocked on his door.
“Oh, Lady Emily,” he said, shock writ on his face. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“No, no, it’s just that I’m not in the habit of entertaining ladies in my room.”
“We can go somewhere else if you’d be more comfortable,” I said, “although staying here is bound to afford the most privacy.”
“Of course. Do come in.”
His room was considerably smaller than mine and Colin’s, and while thoughtfully furnished, was significantly less luxurious. His tuba, in its case, was on the bed, along with a pile of sheet music. A notebook lay open on the desk, a pen on top of it.
“You’ve been close to Sigrid your entire life,” I said. “I’m more sorry than I can say that you’ve lost her. I’ve not known you long, nor her, but even brief observation told me that you two shared a treasured friendship.”
“Losing her is a blow from which I shall never recover. She was my dearest friend, my confidante, my supporter.”
“Your lover?” I asked.
“Lady Emily, I—”
“I apologize for being so blunt, but there’s no point skirting the issue. Everyone expected the two of you to marry until she met Kaspar. From what I understand, she was caught up by his superficial charm.”
“I hear the doubt in your voice,” he said, giving a little laugh. “You’ve not seen him deploy his charm, but I assure you he can. He’s a handsome man, charismatic and strong, full of energy and bluster. She was infatuated. I thought it would pass, but it didn’t, at least not soon enough. They married and I was relegated to the background.”
“For how long?”
“I was never going to return to the forefront. Sigrid’s mother may have bohemian tendencies, but her daughter is far more traditional. She’d made a commitment to her husband and never would have left him, even if she realized she’d made a mistake. The scandal would be too great. People can’t just go around getting divorced; it’s uncivilized. It’s part of the reason so many conventional marriages leave room for, er, close friendships with other people.”
“Did she believe she’d made a mistake?”
“Without question.”
“Were you content with having only a close friendship with her?”
“I had no choice in the matter,” he said, “but it suited me well enough. I’ve always been a bit of a solitary soul. I love music and can better disappear into it when I’m on my own.”
“You might find a partner whose love for it mirrors your own and come to see that sharing it can bring even deeper pleasure.”
“It’s not so easy as you make it sound. I grew up not far from here and spent my childhood climbing mountains and swimming in lakes, but wasn’t much good at either. I’ve no love for physical exertion, can’t figure out how to use a compass, and would likely drown if I tried to cross the Alpsee. Music is the only thing at which I excel. My family’s fortune is nothing like Ursula’s. I’ve got a crumbling pile of a house. The repairs it needs would drain all my resources. Which is all to say that I’m not sought after on the marriage market.”
“Sigrid didn’t need to marry for money.”
“If I may use the same bluntness you did earlier, Sigrid married for lust, the one thing that spurs people more fiercely than money. I knew her infatuation wouldn’t last and was more than content to wait for her to return to me.”
“Was Kaspar aware of the connection the two of you shared?”
“It went further than a mere connection, but Kaspar wouldn’t have cared if Sigrid had a stable full of lovers. He had his fun with her and when it cooled, he still had her money.”
“But only an allowance,” I said.
“A generous allowance, with significant capital to come when the baroness dies.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Even if Kaspar were jealous of my relationship with Sigrid, he never would’ve harmed her. He’ll gain nothing from her death and lose a steady supply of monthly cash. It’s ironic, isn’t it? He’s the one who ignored what was happening around him. Couldn’t imagine someone was trying to kill him. It’s not surprising. He’s not the sort of man who would ever acknowledge his own faults. Now his lifestyle will suffer from his inaction.”
“Does he have money of his own?” I asked.
“Enough, at least to my way of thinking, but my guess is that a person used to a certain level of luxury will never be content with less.”
“He doesn’t sound like a pleasant man.”
“You’ve spent enough time with him to know that’s the case.”
“It must infuriate you,” I said. “He treats the woman you love badly, but she refuses to do anything about it.”
“What could I do except respect her choices?”
I didn’t answer his question, just held his gaze and let silence do its work.
“Surely you don’t think I killed Sigrid? I’d never hurt her.”
“You might’ve missed your intended target.”
“That’s an outrageous accusation!” He’d turned bright red. “If I wanted Kaspar dead—and I’m not saying I did—I’d never have done it in a way that might have harmed her. Further, I wouldn’t have wanted her to witness such a violent spectacle. And then there’s the matter of getting caught, which I’m told murderers always do. What good would come from eliminating him if it resulted in my rotting in prison until I was hanged?” His voice was measured and calm enough, but worry showed in his eyes.
“Did you and Sigrid discuss the incidents that occurred here?” I asked. “Was she concerned?”
“I met her last night. We went for a walk in the snow and when it was too cold to stay outside, took shelter in the stable. We talked about it, naturally, how could we not? I didn’t think she was in the slightest danger. It would be hypocritical for me to criticize Kaspar’s reaction to what was happening.”
“Did Sigrid believe she was in danger?”
His brow crinkled. “No, quite the contrary. In private, with me, she found the whole thing rather amusing. She enjoyed seeing Kaspar squirm.”
“When did he squirm?” I asked.
“Never in front of the others, but with her, he was unguarded. Worried, even. She laughed it off and encouraged him to do the same. I know, because she told me.”
“It’s sounds like they were closer than I would’ve expected.”
“They were married.”
“Yes, but not in love with each other,” I said. “Were they friends?”
“She didn’t despise him, if that’s what you mean. They were bound to each other and accepted that. Neither wanted it any other way.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“My feelings, Lady Emily, were irrelevant. A marriage can’t have three people in it.”
When I left his room, Colin was waiting for me in the corridor, his handsome countenance somber. We retreated to our room. “There wasn’t much to learn from the body. No signs of struggle, no bruises, no ripped clothing. Given the angle at which the bullet entered her skull, I can confirm it was fired from above.”
“From a tree?” I asked.
“It’s certainly possible. It’s also possible that she was sitting while the shooter stood over her on the bench of the sleigh.”
“Which Kaspar could’ve done.”
“Yes,” he said. He was pacing, as he always did when under pressure, stressed, or contemplating a difficult issue.
“I spoke to Kaspar. He denies that he’s involved with anyone else, claims to have no knowledge of whether Sigrid was having an affair, and explained that he’ll see no financial benefit from her death.”
“Do you believe him?” Colin asked.
“I talked to Max immediately thereafter. He said the same about the money, but he also admitted that he and Sigrid had a deep, intimate relationship. Kaspar claims he didn’t care if she was involved with someone else, but he doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who would sit back calmly and accept his wife having a lover.”
“Quite the contrary, particularly a lover he views as inferior to himself. Betrayal is a powerful motive. He wouldn’t be the first husband to murder a straying wife.”