The Cure is Murder – Chapter 7

Oskar Freund

“My scar, you ask? I´ve had that since school. We were mucking around as kids. Had heard about the secret societies, the chaps with their rapiers and funny hats. My friend, Anton, well, he slipped and ripped my cheek. Lucky it wasn´t my eye. But here is where I have to warn you.”

I looked at Oskar. The scar went from just below his right eye to the right side of his mouth. It wasn´t pretty.
“It´s not pretty,” he said, “but very useful.”
I raised an eyebrow as he held open the door to the dining room.
“Shhh. Not here. I´ll tell you later,” he whispered, and in a louder voice, added, “I know Sydney well. Visited several times.”

After lunch, Oskar took me aside. “Things are happening in Austria. Even the Chancellor say that there will be ugly images.”
I nodded. I had heard him say that on TV in one of the endless press conferences that had become little more than propaganda sitcoms. Ugly images indeed. Children freezing in camps because the Chancellor said we couldn´t help all, despite people wanting to open their doors and their hearts like they were doing in Germany, taking in 100 families, saving lives, sharing.
“The ugly images seem to be more of the Chancellor´s own making,” I said.
“Indeed. And there are more horrors to come.”
“How do you know?”
“My scar, ironically, has afforded me entry to the inner circle of his supporters. I am now privy to many of his plans.”
“I´m having a déjà vu,” I said.
“And so you should be. Forewarned is forearmed.”

I felt as if a cold wet towel had been flung over my back and wanted to change the subject, go somewhere warmer. “So, you know Sydney?”
“Of course. I have an Australian passport.”
“You´re not Austrian?”
“Dual citizen.”
“But only Russian opera singers who can´t speak German and the like get dual.”
“There are ways,” Oskar said and winked.