The Mozart Conspiracy

Leigh emerged from her room half an hour later to the smell of coffee, toast and eggs. There was animated talking and laughter coming from downstairs. Peeping down the narrow stairway, she could see Ben and Clara sitting at the table together building a house out of cards. Ben was delicately putting the last card on the top. He took his hand away tentatively. The house wobbled slightly, but remained standing. Clara watched it, entranced, then her cheeks puffed out and she blew it down. Cards scattered across the table.

  ‘Hey, that’s cheating,’ Ben said. Clara giggled and rocked in her chair.

  Leigh stood quietly at the top of the stairs. She watched Ben play with the child. For a man who had never settled down and would probably never be a father himself, he had an amazingly easy way with kids. Clara obviously liked him a lot. That hardness Leigh had seen in him was completely gone. Suddenly, she was looking at the Ben she’d known from years ago.

  Never go back, Leigh.

  Clara saw Leigh coming down the stairs and smiled shyly. ‘I think Daddy’s awake too,’ she said, cocking her head at the clump of footsteps above. ‘Leigh, you’d better get off the stairs.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if Daddy’s getting up, Max will get up too. And when he runs down the stairs he won’t stop for anyone, and he’ll send you flying. He does it all the time.’ Her eyes filled with delight as the dog came thundering down like a huge black cannonball. ‘Here he comes!’

  Leigh quickly stepped aside to avoid being bowled over. Clara jumped down from her chair and ran out of the room with the dog. ‘Come on, Maxy. I’ll get Sister Agnes to fix your breakfast.’ The door banged and she was gone. The cottage was suddenly much quieter.

  ‘Nice kid,’ Leigh said.

  ‘She’s great.’

  ‘She likes you.’

  ‘I like her.’

  ‘You never wanted kids, Ben?’

  ‘Wrong life,’ he said.

  He made her coffee. Last night’s tension was gone, and she was smiling and relaxed. They sat and drank the hot coffee. They could hear Kinski thumping about upstairs.

  ‘Are you and he leaving today?’ Leigh asked.

  Ben nodded. ‘Later, maybe in the evening.’

  ‘It’s going to seem strange without you around.’

  ‘It’s better this way.’

  Leigh sipped her coffee. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘First port of call, the Meyer family.’

  ‘You think they’ll talk to you?’

  ‘I can only try. Hey, look at that,’ he said suddenly, looking up above the door. ‘I didn’t notice it before.’ A wooden rack over the low doorway cradled an old double-barrelled shotgun. He went over and lifted it down. ‘Nice,’ he said.

  ‘Looks old.’

  ‘Probably a hundred years. Good condition, though.’ He ran his eye along the elegant lines, the hand-checkering on the stock and the hammers. Modern weapons were brutish and functional. They did their job efficiently, but they lacked grace. This had been crafted with loving artistry and skill. Hand-finished wood and engraved steel, not hard black rubber and polymer plastic.

  ‘I wonder if it still works,’ Leigh said.

  ‘These things were built to last forever,’ he replied. ‘The old groundsman here probably used it to pot a rabbit now and then.’ He tested the action. The hammers clicked back with a sound like winding up an old clock. Three loud clicks. They locked back solid. There were two triggers, one set behind the other. He tried each one in turn. They had a light, crisp let-off, a little under two pounds. The action was well-oiled and the twin bores were smooth, unpitted and clean. He flipped the gun over in his hands. ‘I have to have a go,’ he said. He searched around, and soon found a box of cartridges in a drawer.

  The sun was shining bright on the snow outside. ‘Mind if I come too?’ she asked.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  Ben carried the gun over his shoulder as they trudged away from the convent in their snow-boots. The sky was clear and blue and the air smelled fresh. When the convent was sinking out of sight behind a snowy ridge, he looked back. ‘We should be OK here. I don’t want to give the nuns heart attacks.’ He looked up at the mountains in the distance. ‘I don’t think we’re going to start any avalanches.’ He propped the shotgun against the trunk of a pine tree. ‘Here, help me.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘Make a snowman.’ He crouched down and started gathering up armfuls of snow, heaping it in a pile. She joined him, clapping handfuls of snow onto the heap. ‘I haven’t done anything like this for years,’ she said, laughing. ‘I remember when Olly and I were kids and we used to lark about in the snow. But it always ended up with him shoving a load of it down my back and me clobbering him with the spade.’

  Ben smiled and gathered up more snow.

  Leigh watched him with a curious look. He saw her face. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘I still find it hard to believe,’ she said.

  ‘Find what hard to believe?’

  ‘You and Theology.’

  He paused, rubbing snow off his hands. ‘Really?’

  ‘You studied it where?’

  ‘Oxford.’

  ‘Impressive. What were your intentions?’

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. ‘You mean was I going to make a career out of it?’ He smiled. ‘Maybe. At the time, I thought about it.’

  ‘You were seriously going to become a clergyman?’

  He clapped another handful of snow onto the growing snowman. ‘It was a long time ago, Leigh. Before I knew you.’

  ‘How come you never told me?’

  ‘That part of my life was already over. It didn’t seem relevant.’

  ‘Did Oliver know about it?’

  ‘Why should he?’

  Leigh shook her head. ‘You, in a white dog-collar, living in a little ivy-fronted vicarage somewhere in the south of England, shepherding your flock. The Reverend Benedict Hope. What made you change your mind?’

  ‘Life happened,’ he said. ‘I drifted away from it.’

  ‘An angel,’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘What?’

  ‘You didn’t drift that far,’ she said. ‘You just found a different path to do the same thing. You became an angel. You’re the guy who comes down and saves people, looks after the weak.’

  Ben didn’t reply.

  When the snowman’s body was about four feet high, Ben rolled him a head and stuck it on top. ‘We need a carrot for a nose, a woolly hat and an old pipe to stick in his mouth,’ Leigh said.

  Ben stuck two finger-holes in the head for eyes. ‘That’ll do. Come away from him now.’

  ‘I get it,’ she said as they trudged back towards the tree where the shotgun was propped.

  ‘What do you get?’

  ‘You’re going to shoot him, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  ‘Honestly. You men.’

  Ben loaded a cartridge into the right-side breech and snapped the action shut. He shouldered the old gun and pointed it at the snowman from thirty yards away. Leigh stood with her fingers in her ears.

  He thumbed back the right-side hammer, pointed and fired. The stock of the gun kicked back against his shoulder and the booming echo rolled around the mountains.

  Leigh took her fingers out of her ears. ‘An exterminating angel,’ she said.

  Ben looked at his target. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said. ‘Looks like the snowman lives to fight another day.’ The shot had scooped a channel out of the side of the snowman’s head. He frowned at the shotgun. ‘Throws to the right a bit. Barrels could be slightly out of true.’

  ‘Let me try the next one,’ she said. ‘That looked like fun.’

  ‘I thought only immature men liked this kind of thing,’ he replied, handing her the gun.

  ‘Immature women do too. How do you work it?’

  ‘Like this.’ He showed her how to break open the action and eject the spent cartridge from the smoking bree
ch. She loaded a second round and he placed her hands on the gun, making sure the stock was well pressed into her shoulder.

  ‘Does it kick a lot?’

  ‘Not too much. Go for it.’ He stepped back.

  She clicked back the hammer, aimed, wavered a little, took a breath and squeezed the trigger. The snowman’s head exploded into a shower of powder snow.

  ‘Good shot,’ he said.

  ‘I got him!’ she yelled. She spun round, dropping the gun and hugging him. It had been so spontaneous, so natural, that she hadn’t even realized she was doing it.

  Ben was caught off balance. They tumbled into the snow together. She was laughing. For a carefree instant they were back to the way they’d been fifteen years ago. She brushed her hair away from her face. Her cheeks were flushed and rosy and there were snowflakes on her eyelashes.

  They stopped and looked at one another. ‘What are we doing?’ she asked softly.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. He reached up and stroked her face.

  They came together slowly and their lips touched. Their kisses were uncertain and quick at first, then he put his arm around her shoulder and drew her nearer. They embraced for a long time. She ran her fingers through his hair, pressing her mouth hard against his. For a moment everything else was forgotten, and it was as if they’d never been apart.

  But then Leigh broke away and scrambled to her feet. Ben stood up with her. They dusted the snow from their clothes. ‘This can’t happen, Ben,’ she said. ‘We can’t go back, you know that.’

  They stood for a few moments, feeling awkward in the silence. Ben was angry with himself. The old shotgun was lying deep in the snow. He picked it up and wiped it clean. He touched her arm. ‘Come on, let’s head back to the cottage.’

  That kiss hung over them for the rest of the day. There was a strained atmosphere between them-neither of them knew what to say. They’d crossed an invisible line, and they were stuck. They couldn’t undo it, and they couldn’t move forward. Ben blamed himself. Unprofessional. Undisciplined. Stupid.

  He avoided thinking about it by spending time with Clara and Max outside. The big dog was quickwitted, and Ben taught him to sit while Clara ran and hid. If he had been a few years younger, Max would have made a perfect police or military dog. He learned wait in three goes. He would sit trembling with anticipation on his haunches, eyes alert and completely keyed into his surroundings. Ben would wait two, three whole minutes, longer each time to build the dog’s concentration-span. Then he would give the quiet command ‘Find Clara’ and Max would be off, hurtling through the snow. Wherever she went, he knew exactly where to find her. He loved the game as much as the little girl did.

  Evening came. Ben was strapping up his bag when he sensed a presence behind him. He turned quickly and saw Leigh there. She had a sad smile and her eyes were a little moist.

  ‘You take care,’ she said. She put her arms around him and drew him close. She pressed her cheek against his ear, her eyes tightly shut. He was about to stroke her hair. He patted her shoulder instead.

  ‘I’ll see you again soon,’ he told her.

  ‘Make it sooner?’ she replied.

  * * *

  Kinski headed back along the snowy roads. Ben liked the way he didn’t feel the need to talk all the time. Military and police guys, guys who spent a lot of time with each other waiting for things to happen, shared that quality of being able to stay quiet for long periods. It was a good atmosphere. They said little for an hour. Ben blew cigarette smoke out of the car window, deep in his own thoughts. He left the whisky flask untouched.

  ‘What’s the story with you and Mother Hildegard?’ he asked as they crossed the border back into Austria.

  ‘I knew her long before she was a nun,’ Kinski said. ‘Funny how you never think that nuns were women once. Back then she wasn’t Hildegard, she was Ilse Knecht. She was a writer in East Berlin.’

  ‘How does a cop get to meet a writer?’

  ‘You know, friend of a friend of a friend. I met her at a party and thought she was OK. Intelligent, aggressively intellectual. I like women like that. But that was her problem.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘She was a little too smart, opened her mouth a little too wide and got in a heap of shit,’ Kinski said. ‘She wrote Christian stuff for newsletters, magazines. The Communist authorities didn’t like her. Then she wrote a novel. They decided it was subversive. They had her followed for a while. Found out she was hanging around with a bunch of people from their files. Names that had red circles around them. Dissidents, activists, people on the margin. That didn’t help. East Berlin was a fucking snake pit.’

  ‘Before my time,’ Ben said. ‘I joined up after the wall came down.’

  Kinski nodded. ‘Lucky you. It wasn’t pretty. Anyway, that gave them the excuse they needed to vanish her. I heard through a contact that they were coming for her. I didn’t think it was right to magic her away to some fucking camp in Manchuria just because of what she wrote.’

  ‘So you helped her.’

  ‘I knew some people. We got her out. She came to Austria, did whatever it is women do to become nuns. Then, after the wall came down she got the post at the convent. She still writes, under another name. A tough old trooper.’

  ‘You saved her life.’

  Kinski waved that away. ‘Well, I just pulled a few strings, you know. It was hard, though. You never knew who you could trust.’

  ‘I know the feeling. Who do you trust now?’

  ‘In the police?’ Kinski had already given it a lot of thought. ‘Three guys for sure. My own guys. Others I’m not so sure about.’

  ‘What about your superiors?’

  ‘I knew my Chief for nearly eight years. I don’t believe he’s mixed up in this. Someone got to him. Or else they just fast-tracked his retirement and he took their offer. That could be it. He was tired.’

  The road flashed by. More quiet time passed. ‘I’m going to need some new kit,’ Ben said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Ammunition for my Para,’ Ben said. ‘Forty-five auto. Copper jacketed, in clean condition. Two hundred rounds at least. No military surplus. Something quality, a good brand like Federal or Remington. Can you arrange that?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Kinski replied.

  ‘Or else another pistol,’ Ben said. ‘Nothing fancy, no unusual calibres, no revolvers. Nothing smaller than nine millimetre, nothing bigger than forty-five.’

  ‘I know a guy.’

  They drove on for a while. Then Kinski asked, ‘So what’s the story with you and Leigh?’

  Ben hesitated. ‘There’s no story.’

  ‘I can see there is.’

  Ben shrugged. ‘I’ve known her for a while. She and I were close once, that’s all.’ He didn’t say anything more.

  ‘OK, I’ll back off,’ Kinski said. ‘None of my business. I just wanted to say—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That if you and Leigh have something going between you, don’t waste it.’

  Ben turned to look at him. The cop’s face was hard as he drove.

  ‘Just don’t fucking waste it, Ben,’ Kinski said again. ‘Don’t throw something like that away. Make the most of it.’ He was quiet for a minute. His hands gripped the wheel in the darkness. He added in an undertone, ‘I lost my wife.’

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Amstetten, Austria

  The next morning

  Freezing rain was spattering hard on the pavements by the time Ben found the place. It was a plain terraced house in a winding street, ten minutes’ walk from the railway station at Amstetten.

  He knocked. Dogs barked inside. He waited a while and knocked again. He heard the sound of someone coming. A figure appeared through a dimpled glass inner door. It opened, and a man stepped into the entrance porch. He unlocked the outer door and stood in the doorway. He was heavy-set, bleary-eyed, with puffy cheeks and straggly grey hair. An odour of cheap cooking and wet dogs arose fro
m the hallway.

  ‘Herr Meyer?’

  ‘Ja? Who are you?’ Meyer peered at Ben suspiciously.

  Ben flashed the police ID he’d stolen from Kinski’s pocket. He kept his thumb over most of it. He held it up just long enough for the word POLIZEI to register, then he jerked it away and tried to look as officious as he could. ‘Detective Gunter Fischbaum.’

  Meyer nodded slowly. Then his eyes narrowed a little. ‘You’re not Austrian.’

  ‘I’ve lived abroad,’ Ben said.

  ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘Your son, Friedrich.’

  ‘Fred’s dead,’ Meyer said in a sullen voice.

  ‘I know,’ Ben replied. ‘I’m sorry. I have a couple of questions.’

  ‘Fred’s been dead almost a year. He killed himself. What more do you people want to know?’

  ‘It won’t take long. May I come in?’

  Meyer didn’t say anything. Down the hallway, a door opened. A scrawny woman appeared behind Meyer. She looked worried. ‘Was ist los?’

  ‘Polizei,’, Meyer said over his shoulder.

  ‘May I come in?’ Ben repeated.

  ‘Is this a criminal investigation?’ Meyer asked. ‘Did my son do anything wrong?’

  ‘No, he didn’t,’ Ben answered.

  ‘Then I don’t have to let you in.’

  ‘No, you don’t. But I’d appreciate it if you did.’

  ‘No more questions!’ the woman yelled at him. ‘Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough?’

  ‘Go away,’ Meyer said quietly. ‘We don’t want to talk any more about Fred. Our son is dead. Leave us alone.’

  Ben nodded. ‘I understand. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’ He turned to go. The rain was hammering down and he felt it trickling coldly across his scalp.

  The tickets. Two opera tickets. One for Fred. Who was the second one for? Oliver? No, that didn’t make sense. Why would Oliver have given him both tickets? He’d have kept his own and given just one to Fred. Two guys going to the opera together wasn’t Oliver’s style anyway. Oliver wouldn’t go out anywhere without a girl, usually a nice one. Maybe it wasn’t Fred’s style either. So who was the other ticket for?

  Ben stopped on the bottom step. He turned back to the door. Meyer had half-closed it, watching him with a guarded look.