book an appointment if you feel the need to see me at some point in the future.’
The patient nodded.
‘If I may,’ Schule began, ‘I would love to use your case for a paper I’m writing for a surgical journal.’
‘I’d prefer to be left out of any literature, thank you.’
‘I can assure you that your anonymity will be protected. Only the injury, procedure and results will be included.’
‘The answer is no.’
Schule sighed. ‘Well, that is a shame. But it’s your choice. Do let me know if you change your mind.’
‘I shall.’
‘Then I think we’re all done.’
He said, ‘There is one thing that I wonder if you could help me with.’
‘Of course.’
‘I’d like to take any physical records of my procedure with me, and I would appreciate it if any and all electronic records could be deleted too.’
Schule smiled, friendly and reassuring. ‘I can promise you that your privacy is of the utmost importance to us here and no one but my staff and I will ever see those records. I’m sorry if I’ve made you nervous because of the journal. I respect your wishes not to be included.’
He nodded. ‘I appreciate that, but regardless of your paper, when I leave here I’d prefer that no record of my presence was left behind.’
‘I’m afraid we must retain your medical records, both for legal considerations and for any future procedures you might have with us. There really is nothing to be concerned about. I’ve been protecting the privacy of my patients since the very beginnings of this practice.’
‘Please, I’d like my records.’ His tone was calm but insistent.
‘I’m sorry,’ Schule said, ‘but I just can’t do that. It comes down to a matter of legality and I’m not prepared to break the law, even if I was comfortable with what you’re asking of me.’
‘Your name is Margaret Schule,’ he said. ‘You are forty-nine years old. You grew up in Gräfelfing, twenty kilometres west of Munich. Your father was a baker by trade. He joined the Nazi party in the summer of 1939. By the time the Second World War ended he had risen to the rank of lieutenant in the Waffen SS. He changed his name after the war, taking the identity of one of his childhood friends, and took his young wife to Austria. They lived there for over ten years before returning to Germany, where you were born. You studied medicine at the Berlin College of Medicine and spent six years practising in Germany before working in London and then the United States, where you specialised in cosmetic surgery and taught for a time at Princeton Plainsborough. You came to Austria fifteen years ago for your father’s funeral and eventually established this practice six years later with an investment from your husband, Alfred, who you first met while you were in London. He owns a fifty-five per cent stake in your practice and has absolutely no idea that you’ve been having an affair with his younger brother for the past eighteen months. You meet every Friday afternoon. He tells his secretary he’s playing badminton.’
There was no change in the patient’s expression. There was no malice. He sat still and relaxed, handsome yet cold, but everything about him demanded obedience.
Schule stared at the patient for a long time before regaining her composure. Her mouth opened to demand answers to questions that she couldn’t form the words for. Eventually, she reached across her desk and pushed a button on her intercom, then held the receiver to her ear.
When the line connected, Schule instructed her secretary to do as the patient wished, silencing the secretary’s protest’s with: ‘I don’t care. Just make sure they’re deleted and hand him all documentation.’
The patient stood without taking his gaze from her, repositioned the chair as it had originally been, and left the office without another word.
SIX
Victor withdrew a pair of sunglasses from his inside jacket pocket and slipped them on. He stood outside the grand townhouse that housed Schule’s practice. The early afternoon sun was bright and warm. The building was whitewashed, like every building on the wide boulevard. A wrought iron fence, painted black and topped with brass spikes, flanked a set of marble steps that led down to the pavement. A light wind blew against his face. He descended the steps as he instinctively swept his gaze across his immediate environment.
The building was located on Wiener Street in central Vienna, opposite the Stadtpark. The neighbourhood was one of almost identical streets, with identical rows of