The Nameless Ones by John Connolly

Chapter LX

Louis received the message on his cell phone as he alighted from the train at Vienna’s Central Station.

Find another hotel, it read. Hndksn 187.

It was the police code for homicide. Louis did not call Angel, but responded with a simple OK. Behind the two letters lay a weight of sudden grief and anger. He had liked Hendricksen a great deal, and Louis did not like very many people at all. He took a few moments to find alternative accommodation to Angel’s, as advised, selecting an upmarket boutique place on Führichgasse. The room was expensive, but six bottles of wine were included in the price, and Louis felt as though he could drink most of them before lunch. He caught a taxi to his lodgings, checked into his room, and waited for Angel to get in touch.

From his window he could see the Albertina. In another life, another time, he might have gone there to view the Dürers in its collection, but not now, not with the weight of the dead pressing upon him. Reflecting on Dürer brought to mind De Jaager, who had enjoyed haunting the Rijksmuseum, and generally adored Dürer, but suffered a curious blind spot when it came to the art of engraving – and the Rijksmuseum, if Louis remembered right, held, with the exception of a single drawing, only Dürer’s engravings. Perhaps, Louis thought, he might visit the Albertina after all, circumstances permitting, because De Jaager would have wanted it.

Two hours went by, then three. He did not move from the bed, and was not in the mood to resume his immersion in Fenimore Cooper. There were books on the shelf in his room, but most of them were in German. The only English work he could find was a volume of essays on morals and ethics. He started reading it before deciding that the best of its contents he already knew, and the rest he didn’t need to know. He opened one of the complimentary bottles of red wine and drank a single glass. From the wall opposite his bed, a life-size photograph of a girl stared back at him. The girl looked poor: an immigrant, or a lost soul. Louis considered it an odd choice of décor, unless it was intended to evoke feelings of guilt in the observer for being able to afford one of the better rooms in Vienna.

His phone rang. He answered.

‘What happened?’ he said.

‘They must have come for him sometime after eight in the evening,’ Angel replied, ‘because Hendricksen signed for a room service tray at seven forty-five. He was tortured and left to die in the tub, but somehow, he held on. He lived long enough to tell me that a young girl hurt him. He seemed to be saying that she was dead, but he was in a lot of pain, so who knows what he meant. He passed away shortly after they got him to Vienna General. The police are looking at the security footage from the hotel right now. There are cameras in the elevators and the lobby areas, and one on every external door, although not on every corridor. Unless whoever killed Hendricksen magicked a way in and out, they’ll be caught on camera somewhere.’

‘What did you tell the police?’

‘That Hendricksen and I were friends who happened to have crossed paths in Vienna. We’d agreed to meet for dinner, but Hendricksen didn’t appear. When he didn’t make it for breakfast either, I grew worried. I asked a maid to let me check on him – I didn’t mention the bribe – and found him dying in the tub.’

‘And they believed you?’ said Louis.

‘Not completely, but they accept that I didn’t kill him, although I get the feeling at least one of the detectives thinks I know who did. She can think whatever she wants. It won’t get her anywhere.’

‘Will you be able to get a look at that security footage?’

‘I’m sure I’ll be asked to view it, just in case I recognize anyone. But Louis, what was done to Hendricksen was strange.’

‘What do you mean, “strange”?’

‘He was very weak when I found him, but while we were waiting for the ambulance, he said the girl used her fingers on him. She cut him with a blade and then dug deep, working on him with her nails. What kind of child does that to another human being?’

Louis didn’t have an answer to the question, although he felt certain that if anyone could find such an individual, it was the Vuksans.

‘It means there’ll probably be prints,’ he said.

‘I saw smudges, but no obvious fingerprints. I guess you’re right, though. Where are you, by the way?’

Louis gave him the address.

‘The police have told me not to leave the city, and to inform them if I change hotels,’ said Angel. ‘It makes sense not to move, and I wouldn’t want to draw attention to you.’

‘If this is the Vuksans’ work, then they know about us by now,’ said Louis. ‘Did Hendricksen say what he’d told them?’

‘No, but judging from what they did to him, I’d say he gave them everything he knew.’

‘Then we need to move on Frend.’

‘I have his number,’ said Angel, ‘and the first of the videos of his daughter. I’ll send the footage this afternoon, and a text warning him to resist the temptation to go running to the police – not that I think he will, not with his client list, but you never know.’

‘No,’ said Louis, ‘you never do. On second thoughts, hold off on sending the first video until tomorrow. Let’s give the police twenty-four hours to lose some of their interest in you, because I can’t handle Frend alone. Once Frend has the video, we’ll leave him to stew for a few hours.’

He stared at the girl on the wall, and she stared back. Louis thought he might have to ask for a change of room.

‘I wonder how the Vuksans found Hendricksen,’ he said.

‘Bad luck.’

‘Maybe we brought it with us.’

‘We always seem to have some to spare,’ said Angel. He paused. ‘I liked Hendricksen.’

‘I liked him too.’

‘We’ll make them pay, won’t we?’

‘Yes,’ said Louis. ‘Every one of them.’