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Last Stop Vienna : Ch 3
Rating: PG-13 for some violence
Transcribed by Brightbear
Author's Notes: I have replaced the word Stephansplatz with Stephans Plaza. If anybody knows a better translation, let me know. This story is set a few years after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Some characters I could not find a character name for (the dog handler that looks after Rex & the Russian store owner that helps Richard), so I made up the names Dieter and Stefan Dejevsky. If anybody knows their actual names, please let me know.
Disclaimer: This is written by a fan of the television series Kommissar Rex. Kommissar Rex is owned by Mungo film, Tauris film, SAT.1 and ORF. The script for the episode Last Stop Vienna was written by Peter Moser and Peter Hajek. Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
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With the telephone still in one hand, Mrs Werner watched on the screen as Richard pointed at the camera.
“...I want you to see to it as soon as you can,” she said into the phone. “I need cash for a major transaction. Thankyou. Goodbye.”
She put down the phone and turned away from the surveillance screen just as her butler entered.
“Yes?” she asked.
The butler nodded respectfully, “Two police officers to see you, madam.”
“Whatever do they want?” she asked with deceiving cheerfulness. ”Please ask them in.”
The butler nodded and withdrew from the office. A moment later, Richard and Stocki entered. Richard focused on Mrs Werner as soon as he saw her but Stocki continued to look around casually. Richard especially took note of the wrinkles around Mrs Werner's eyes. Mrs Werner was not young, possibly in her fifties or sixties but expensive make-up and experienced application blurred the telltale signs. She fixed her attention on Richard.
“Hello,” said Richard pleasantly. “My name is Moser and this...”
Richard caught Stocki by the elbow and turned him to face Mrs Werner, “..is Mr Stockinger.”
Mrs Werner smiled, revealing pearly white teeth, “Hello.”
Richard took a few steps towards Mrs Werner, “We’re investigating two murders.”
“Dreadful,” said Mrs Werner pleasantly. “How can I help you?”
Stocki frowned at her tone, suspicion clearly showing on his face. Richard simply matched her tone with his own.
“Well...” he began, as if he was embarrassed to be bothering her. “Do you know a Russian called Petr Zhukov?”
Mrs Werner nodded, “I’ve met him. My late husband did business with him. A long time ago.”
Stocki rocked on his heels, bored by the politeness of the conversation.
“And Markus Spitzer?” asked Richard.
Mrs Werner paused to think, “He has an export business which hasn’t done very well.”
Richard raised his eyebrows in surprise, “But Mr Spitzer’s company records clearly show that your company also dealt with him.”
Mrs Werner shrugged and Richard didn’t push the issue. Stocki wasn’t as delicate.
“May I ask where you were on Wednesday, about 5 pm?” he asked bluntly.
Richard cringed but looked to Mrs Werner for her response.
Mrs Werner smiled again, noting Richard’s reaction, “Here.”
Stocki looked at her sceptically. Mrs Werner’s smile faded and she pushed herself backwards from the desk. It was only when she emerged from behind the desk that two Inspectors could see that she was in a wheelchair. An expensive wheelchair but a wheelchair nevertheless. She stared coldly at the two as she wheeled towards them. Stocki swallowed and turned red from embarrassment. Richard ducked his head, trying not to stare.
They stood aside to let her pass. They followed her into the next room.
Mrs Werner called over her shoulder, “Please have a seat... gentlemen.”
She stopped facing a leather chair, her expression still stern and disapproving. Richard sat opposite her. Stocki remained standing and began to pace behind Richard.
Richard met Mrs Werner’s gaze, “Can you explain the murders of Spitzer and Zhukov?”
Mrs Werner looked pleased to be asked, “It’s just a guess. Recently in Frankfurt and Amsterdam some former Soviet bureaucrats were murdered in a similar way. Maybe some old comrades are taking revenge.”
Her eyes flickered to Stocki as he wandered past.
“Yes,” said Richard. “...but Zhukov was murdered by Spitzer, an Austrian. I can’t believe he had a political motive.”
Mrs Werner shrugged again and looked at her manicured hands folded neatly across her lap. She titled her head delicately to the side, thinking.
She looked back to Richard, “There are rumours he needed money. Perhaps he was paid and then eliminated.”
“Excuse me,” spoke up Stocki.
Mrs Werner turned her gaze to Stocki. Stocki felt as if he was being tested somehow and straightened up to his full height.
“It’s an open secret that Zhukov got a cut of all the major deals between Vienna and Moscow,” said Stocki.
Mrs Werner’s eyes flickered back to Richard for a moment before returning to Stocki, “Is there any hard evidence?”
“Mrs Werner,” said Richard, a dangerous undercurrent creeping into his tone. “We could get the Tax Office to look into your company... but it’s not my area. I want your help.”
Mrs Werner looked sharply back at Richard, surprised and not a little impresssed. Her clear blue eyes looked at him, trying to make a judgement. Richard remained relaxed and unflinching. Mrs Werner’s shoulders relaxed as she conceded and shrugged.
“What do you want to know?” she asked, pleasant once more.
Richard leaned back into the couch, “Times have changed since the east opened up. Zhukov still got his cut although he approved no deals because he’d been ousted.”
Stocki stepped forward, ”He must have had enemies in Vienna. Mr Landovsky, for example.”
“True,” said Mrs Werner. “He’s the biggest player. He has the most to lose. You’re well informed.”
She waited for Richard’s response but he remained silent, his attention still focused on her.
Thinking, she asked, “But would Landovsky murder someone over a petty scam?”
There was a definite note of triumph in Richard’s eyes, “This is about the money that Zhukov amassed.”
“We’ve asked around,” added Stocki. “A cut of 10% is standard.”
Richard continued, “Zhukov must have extorted around two hundred million.”
Mrs Werner gasped in surprise.
Richard nodded in emphasis, “He couldn’t send it to Russia.”
“So it must be here,” finished Stocki.
Richard waited a beat, “What do you do professionally?”
Mrs Werner gave her most genuine smile yet, “I give a little financial advice.” * * *
A few minutes later Richard and Stocki were walking down the path again. Stocki looked around again at the opulent surroundings.
“It’s sad,” he sighed. “So rich, and yet disabled.”
“You can be in a wheelchair and still be a criminal,” Richard reminded him. “In any event, this is about money.”
Stocki shrugged, “You think someone didn’t want to keep on paying Zhukov?”
“Or someone wanted his money,” said Richard. “Landovsky paid Zhukov too. He’s next on our list.”
Stocki’s next comment was interrupted by the ringing of Richard’s cell phone.
* * * Höllerer was ringing Richard from the office. Across from Höllerer, fiddling with his cap nervously, sat Officer Wimmer.
“Our colleague has just remembered something,” said Höllerer to the phone. “No, he didn’t see her face properly.”
Höllerer looked disapprovingly at Wimmer over the rims of his glasses. Wimmer shifted uncomfortably but knew it could be worse. He’d rather deal with Höllerer than Richard Moser.
“No, something else,” continued Höllerer. “She had a distinctive limp... he said he couldn’t get a word in... take your bad mood out on someone else!”
Höllerer smacked the phone down and glared at Wimmer.
* * * Richard and Stocki strolled casually into Mr Landovsky's office. There was no one at the front desk.
Richard stuck his head into the next room, “Hello. Police.”
There was a startled gasp from the corner of the room. A secretary was crouched in the corner, filing sheets of paper. At the sound of Richard’s voice, she’d dropped everything.
“No cause for alarm,” said Richard, leaning down to help her.
The dark-haired secretary still looked terrified. Richard knew a lost cause when he saw one.
“We’d like to see Mr Landovsky,” he said, giving up.
The secretary shrugged, “He’s not here.”
She turned away from Richard coldly and limped back to her desk. Richard and Stocki exchanged looks. No other choice, they’d have to talk to her.
“That’s unfortunate,” said Richard, following her. “I must talk to him immediately.”
Richard turned away casually and began inspecting the ornaments on the sideboard. Stocki remained at the doorway, staring at the secretary who was now sitting at her desk.
“I can make an appointment,” she offered.
“It can’t wait,” said Richard calmly. “Have you hurt your foot?”
The secretary frowned, puzzled, “No, my knee. Why?”
Richard shrugged, “It’s our business to be curious.”
Richard looked sideways at Stocki who immediately did his best to look even more stern and intimidating. Richard approached the secretary again and looked at her directly.
“Where were you on Wednesday around 5 o’clock?” he asked.
The secretary blinked nervously and looked between Richard and Stocki. She opened her mouth twice but nothing came out.
“Must I say?” she asked finally.
“No, you can call your lawyer and I can summons you,” said Richard, turning away again. “But why go to all that trouble?”
“I was here,” she said.
Stocki raised an eyebrow at her.
“My boss can confirm it,” she added defensively.
Stocki nodded, “All right. We’ll check.”
Richard moved back to the desk and picked up a frosted rose in a glass, “Where’s your boss at the moment?”
The secretary snatched the glass back, “Shopping.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Richard and Stocki walked into a gun shop. They began idly examining the guns on the walls. The attendant behind the counter watched them for a moment.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” he called. “Can I help you?”
Richard moved towards the counter while Stocki continued to browse, “I’m sure you can. We want to see Mr Landovsky. We heard he was here.”
The attendant shrugged, “I don’t know if I can disturb him.”
Richard looked to Stocki. Stocki rolled his eyes. People always had to make things difficult. Richard stepped towards the accountant and casually pulled back his jacket. The attendant’s eyes opened wide at the sight of Richard’s handgun.
“I’m sure you can,” said Richard pleasantly.
“He’s in the range,” said the attendant quickly.
Richard drew his gun out of his holster and pulled out the clip. He then handed the gun to the attendant.
“Thankyou,” said Richard, walking off towards the shooting range with Stocki in tow.
The attendant looked at the gun in his hands in surprise.
“Why have you given me this?” he called after them.
Richard stopped and did his best to look surprised, “The left plate is loose. Would you fix it?”
Without waiting for a response, Richard set off again. Stocki jogged to catch up.
“Are you crazy?” he hissed to Richard. “Get our boys to fix it. He’ll charge a fortune.”
Richard shrugged, “He’ll do it for free.”
Stocki’s eyebrows jumped, “What makes you think that?”
Richard just smiled smugly and kept walking.
* * *
Bruno Landovsky took aim with his rifle and fired again. In the man-made shooting gallery, the only moving targets were suspended pictures of deer. They ought not to be a problem for an experienced hunter such as Landovsky but his shots were still going wide of the centre of mass. The rifle he was using was not his own but one he had borrowed. Pulling his earmuffs away from his ears, he peered closely at the rifle’s sights.
“It pulls to the left,” called a voice from behind him.
“To the left, you say?” frowned Landovsky, checking the sight again. “Quite correct. You’re familiar with shotguns?”
“We know more about handguns,” said the voice. “We’re from the police.”
Landovsky turned in surprise, still holding the rifle, to see Richard and Stocki watching him.
“Police?” asked Landovsky, his eyes widening.
“Homicide, Mr Landovsky,” explained Richard.
Landovsky lowered the rifle. Richard brushed the rifle to the side.
“Careful,” warned Richard. “Careful. We don’t want an accident.”
Landovsky laughed nervously, “Sorry. I ought not to make a mistake like that.”
“A professional are you?” said Stocki sceptically.
“No, a hunter,” said Landovsky, managing to smile pleasantly at them. “May I ask why you want to see me?”
“It’s about your friend, Mr Zhukov,” said Richard.
“And?”
“He’s dead. Didn’t you know?” asked Richard. “Somebody... poof... blew him up.”
“Good lord,” said Landovsky, his smile slipping. “Do you know who did it?”
“Yes. A certain Mr Spitzer,” said Richard. “But we think he was acting on someone’s behalf.”
Landovsky’s smile returned and he shrugged, “What makes you think that?”
“He was murdered as well,” said Stocki. “You were Zhukov’s biggest partner.”
A glimmer of panic crept into Landovsky’s eyes, “We all dealt with Zhukov. We had no choice. That’s how it is in the East.”
Richard took a step towards Landovsky, “But it cost you a packet and you got no return. Zhukov still took a cut although he was ousted, right?”
Landovsky laughed, his eyes twinkling with genuine mirth, “You don’t think I’d kill a man over that.”
Richard laughed too, matching Landovsky’s tone, “You can hire other people.”
Landovsky’s face fell as he registered Richard‘s comment.
“Where were you on Wednesday? Around 5 pm?” asked Stocki.
“5 pm? At my office, I think,” said Landovsky, mustering up another smile.
“And your secretary?” asked Richard.
“She was there too,” said Landovsky. “What’s she got to do with it?”
“Mr Spitzer was killed around that time,” shrugged Richard.
He waited a beat, “By a woman with dark hair. Goodbye, Mr Landovsky. We’ll meet again.”
Richard motioned to Stocki and the pair began walking to the door. A worried Landovsky watched them go, frozen to the spot.
As they passed the front desk, the attendant waved for Richard’s attention. He held out Richard’s handgun.
“All done,” smiled the attendant. “It was a simple matter.”
Richard reached for his wallet, “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s on the house,” said the attendant quickly.
“Thankyou.“
Richard smiled at Stocki. Stocki forced himself to bite his tongue.
By the time they reached Richard’s car, Stocki could stand it no longer.
“I really want to know why he did that for free,” he told Richard firmly.
Richard held the car door open for Stocki, “He thinks I’m a thug. Besides...”
Richard taped the side of his nose conspiratorially, “Understand?”
Stocki frowned and climbed into the car while Richard climbed into the driver’s seat. Stocki still looked puzzled. Just as Richard was reaching for the ignition, Stocki laid a restraining hand on his arm.
“Look who’s in a hurry,” said Stocki, motioning across the road.
Landovsky had come hurrying out of the shooting gallery, pulling his cap down tightly over his balding head.
“Let’s go,” said Richard.
They climbed out of the car and followed Landovsky on foot. * * * At the Police Dog Kennels, Rex had been moved back to his usual enclosure. The enclosure was split into a sheltered inner section and a sunny outer section where only a barred door separated Rex from the fresh air. Midday sunshine filtered through the bars in stripes, warming Rex's back.
Rex determinedly faced away from the bars. Michael had gotten into the habit of standing outside Rex’s enclosure during his breaks. He’d scratch Rex’s head through the bars and talk to him about anything and everything. Some of the other handlers had tried to pat Rex through the bars but rather than being comforting, Rex just found it another painful reminder.
A shadow fell across Rex, depriving him of warmth. Rex's ear flicked in annoyance but he refused to move or face the bars. He could smell Dieter and even imagine him standing by the bars. By now, Rex was used to Dieter's disappointed expression. He didn't need to see it again. The clinking of metal bowls told Rex that Dieter had brought food and water with him. Rex draped a paw over his muzzle, ignoring the hunger in his stomach.
Dieter sighed and moved away. A few moments later, Dieter was back with a companion.
"Any change?" asked the voice of the head handler.
"No," said Dieter. "He won't eat or drink. And he growls at anyone who comes near."<
"Rex, come," said the head handler sharply.
Rex pressed himself further into the hard floor.
"Here, Rex!" repeated the head handler.
Annoyance was creeping into the head handler's tone.
"Rex, come," called Dieter, softer and gentler. "Here, Rex."
Dieter meant well but he just wasn't Michael.
"There's no point," snapped the head handler. "Call the vet."
Rex's ears flicked. There was only one reason to call a vet for a healthy, already neutered dog. He heard Dieter sigh and move away. Rex found himself shaking. He didn’t want to die. He raised himself up on weak legs, suffering from the lack of food and water the past three days. Rex didn’t want to die, he just wanted to be with Michael, to remember Michael.
He trotted to the door in the bars and rose up on his hind legs. He sniffed the doorhandle. Rex had seen handlers moving the doorhandles, he knew that when Dieter had been in earlier the door hadn’t been locked. Rex grappled awkwardly with the doorhandle, his teeth catching on the metal. Finally, Rex managed to get a grip on the handle and pull. The handle turned halfway then stopped. Rex pulled the other way. With a click, the door swung open, almost throwing Rex off balance.
Rex stood at the threshold. Did he want to die? He would if he stayed here. Where else could he go? Suddenly Rex knew exactly where he wanted to go. He set off across the grass, unseen and unheard by all the officers on duty.
* * * Elsewhere in Vienna, Landovsky was panting. He wasn’t a fit man and the sun was warm. He passed through the streets of Vienna, bumping into the passer-by's. At last, he saw his destination at the end of the street. An expensive three storey hotel with red banners and streamers hanging limply without a breeze. The ground floor of the hotel was largely taken up by a five star restaurant. Landovsky dragged himself up to the conductor.
The conductor looked up importantly as Landovsky approached, “Mrs Werner has finished her soup.”
Landovsky handed the conductor a wad of cash. He went to enter the restaurant, then paused.
“Is she alone?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr Landovsky.”
Several metres behind, Richard and Stocki strolled casually down the street. They took their time, moving leisurely and making room for other pedestrians. As they passed a bus stop, a woman struggled to use her lighter.
Seeing Richard, she held up her cigarette, “Have you got a light?”
Richard paused and hurriedly searched his pockets. Stocki beat him to it and held out his own lighter. The woman nodded in thanks and turned away. Glaring at Stocki, Richard moved on.
* * * Landovsky flopped into a chair opposite Mrs Werner. Mrs Werner paused in the act of lifting a slice of marinated fish into her mouth. She raised an eyebrow at Landovsky and then continued eating. She took a sip of wine.
Swallowing, Mrs Werner said, “Avoid heavy food. You’re wheezing.”
“I don’t feel like eating,” said Landovsky impatiently. “The police came to see me.”
“Me too,” shrugged Mrs Werner. “So? Don’t panic.”
Landovsky looked around to make sure he wasn’t being overheard.
“My last business deals with Zhukov fell through,” he hissed. “I’m in financial difficulty.”
“The liberalisation in the East has its drawbacks,” said Mrs Werner pleasantly. “It was easier under the old regime.”
Landovsky’s eyes narrowed, “Mrs Werner. I’m telling you. I want my money back.”
Mrs Werner smiled at him, unperturbed.
“Not just the last payments but all I ever gave Zhukov,” continued Landovsky. “He must have pocketed close to 200 million. It’s no good to him now.”
Mrs Werner wiped her lips with a napkin and placed her cutlery on her plate. She leaned back and regarded Landovsky for a moment.
“The facts are simple,” she said at last. “The money isn’t there. Zhukov took it a while ago. He came here on his way to South America.”
Landovsky glared at Mrs Werner, “You think I don’t know about your deals? If I choose, you’ll lose everything.”
Mrs Werner smiled in amusement, “Is that a threat?”
“If we don’t come to an agreement,” said Landovsky quietly. “I’ll find ways and means of getting my money.” * * * From the restaurant corridor, Richard and Stocki watched Mrs Werner and Landovsky talking. Unable to hear the conversation without getting closer, they watched the body language.
“Well, what do you know?” drawled Stocki. “Mr Landovsky seems a little nervous.”
Richard looked at the sideboard behind him. Seeing a row of wine bottles, Richard picked one up to check the year. A waiter walked past but paused when he saw Richard with the wine bottle. Richard smiled pleasantly and put the wine bottle back down.
As the waiter moved on, Richard turned to Stocki, “That’s all though. It’s just as Mrs Werner said. Those people all know each other.”
Watching Landovsky leaning across the table, Stocki grunted, “It doesn’t look like a friendly chat.”
The same waiter walked past again with a rich chocolate cake covered in cherries. He glared at the two Inspectors, who didn’t seem to be buying anything, before he moved on.
Stocki groaned, “Watching them eat is making me hungry.”
“That reminds me,” said Richard. “Keep watch while I grab some lunch.”
Stocki grabbed Richard’s arm, “Here? Do you want to bankrupt yourself?”
Richard stopped and snapped his fingers, “Thanks for reminding me. I need to go to the bank first.”
Richard turned and walked out the other way. Before he reached the door, something occurred to him. He pulled a squashed ham roll out of his jacket pocket and placed it firmly in Stocki’s hand.
“So you don’t starve,” Richard told him pleasantly. * * * Half an hour later, Stocki was back in the Homicide Office with Höllerer. The two were seated at Höllerer’s desk, digging hungrily into a sickly sweet chocolate cake.
“Mrs Werner’s chauffeur put her in the car,” said Stocki, between mouthfuls. “...and drove off. Landovsky went back to his office and I bought the cake.”
“Good idea,” said Höllerer enthusiastically. “But it lacks something.”
“Really? What?” frowned Stocki.
“Coffee. Will you get it?”
Höllerer looked pleadingly at Stocki until Stocki gave in. Just as Stocki reached the coffee machine in the corner, Richard came in.
“Done your banking?” asked Stocki. “Now you can pay me back.”
;Stocki walked towards Richard with his hand outstretched. Richard walked straight past him.
“No, I went to Mrs Werner’s bank,” explained Richard over his shoulder. “Guess who manages Zhukov’s money.”
“Mrs Werner,” said Stocki, turning back to the coffee.
“Right,” said Richard, sitting in Stocki’s seat across from Höllerer. “Höllerer, I want you and Wimmer to watch her and Landovsky.”
Höllerer began to scrape at the cake crumbs on his plate, “I’m on my way.”
Stocki turned around with the two cups of coffee to find that Richard had taken his seat and had started eating his cake. Stocki rolled his eyes and shrugged in resignation.
“Mrs Werner managed Zhukov’s millions and kept the interest,” said Richard.
Stocki perched on the edge of Höllerer’s desk with his cup of coffee, “It occurred to Landovsky that this money was ownerless.”
Richard paused. Stocki wasn’t sure whether he was thinking or savouring the taste of the cake.
“Possible,” said Richard finally. “Mrs Werner’s motive is clear. She wants to keep Zhukov’s money. And Landovsky wants his share. Maybe one of them got Spitzer to kill Zhukov. But who killed Spitzer?”
Stocki shrugged, “It wasn’t Landovsky’s secretary. I’ve made a few enquires. She and Landovsky are having an affair. They were at work on Wednesday.”
Stocki smiled cheekily, ”But they weren’t occupied with work.”
Höllerer and Stocki chuckled heartily. Höllerer noticed that Richard was glaring at him and stopped abruptly.
“Yes?” Richard prompted.
Höllerer sighed and got up to get his coat, “Goodbye, gents. Have a nice evening.”
Stocki waved goodbye as Höllerer walked out the door.
Richard stole Höllerer’s coffee. Stocki went to say something but thought better of it and returned to sit at his desk. While he was drinking his coffee, he happened to notice post-its he’d stuck to his lamp and forgotten about.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Stocki. “Your wife called.”
Richard’s fork paused mid-shovel.
“She’s taken the furniture,” Stocki said, screwing up the note.
Richard shrugged fiercely, “I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Oh, one more thing...,” said Stocki, picking up the second note. “The dog’s vanished.”
Stocki tossed the second note in the bin and pulled out some overdue paperwork. When he happened to glance up, he saw that Richard had frozen. Not only was Richard frowning but he’d even put down the cake fork.
“Vanished?” * * * Later that afternoon, Richard walked slowly down the corridors of the Vienna Police Department. The only other person about was a cleaner, moping the floors. Richard turned the corner and started down the stairs, lost in thought.
“Richard!” called Stocki’s voice.
Richard paused on the stairs, “Yes?”
Stocki rolled out onto the landing on his office chair, “I‘ve got something for you.”. He stood and held up the chair for Richard to see.
“What’s that for?” asked Richard.
“For you to sit on,” explained Stocki, putting the chair back down. “You have no furniture.”
Richard rolled his eyes, “Any more crap from you... and I’ll move in with you.”
“Are you threatening me?” asked Stocki, raising his hands in surrender. “I was only joking.”
“Ha, ha,” snapped Richard. “Let me be.”
Stocki’s shoulders dropped and he became serious, “Be glad you’re rid of her.”
Richard’s head jerked up angrily to glare at Stocki. Richard sprinted up the stairs towards Stocki. Stocki was no fool. He turned and ran in a panic. He wasn’t completely convinced that Richard wouldn’t hurt him. Richard gave up after a couple of dozen steps. He went back downstairs, muttering to himself.
Stocki waited a few moments before daring to follow. Stocki straightened his tie and tried to pretend he hadn’t just fled in terror. He was careful to keep a couple of metres behind Richard all the way to the ground floor. Richard left the stairs and headed for the main entrance. Stocki followed cautiously, watching Richard out of the corner of his eye.
Richard paused and looked back over his shoulder. Stocki shuffled back a few steps.
“Have a nice evening,” said Stocki nervously.
Stocki turned and hurried off to another exit. Richard rolled his eyes and continued out the front entrance.
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