The Camera Killer (13 page)

Eva strove to calm her down. She pointed out that Heinrich was only some twenty feet away and drew attention to her husband’s immense physical strength. The camera killer would be well advised to give the house a wide berth, she said. At all events, she herself wasn’t frightened. And now she was going to the kitchen to brew some coffee. She was expecting guests. Someone in this madhouse had to keep a sense of perspective, and that was clearly her own allotted role.

When Eva got to her feet, my partner caught hold of her. She wanted everyone to stay together, she said.

Eva: Very well, why not simply come too?

My partner agreed on the condition that I accompany her. I did as I was bidden.

As we made our way along the hall in single file, Heinrich, who had evidently overheard our conversation, tapped his forehead and laughed. We heard him explaining the situation on the phone and asking someone for information about police movements.

In the kitchen, Eva filled a kettle with water and urged my partner to sit down. My partner refused on the grounds that, theoretically, just theoretically, someone seated at the table would make an easier target. She preferred to stand up against the wall, she said. Eva went over to my partner, put her arms around her, and argued that no such danger impended.

My partner said she had a nasty feeling, a sinister presentiment. Eva insisted that the camera killer hadn’t become notorious for his use of firearms; all he had done was threaten some little children with a knife, and knives didn’t fly through closed windows. Eva’s remarks were sporadically punctuated or accompanied by exclamations from Heinrich that threatened to neutralize their soothing effect, so she shut the door to the hall.

No, please don’t, cried my partner, only to laugh at herself a moment later—an activity (laughter) in which Eva joined. Visibly summoning up all her willpower, my partner sat down at the table.

Eva pointed out that she had a good view of the neighbors’ house and its front door from there; perhaps that would reassure her somewhat. My partner shrugged her shoulders, smiling forlornly.

We listened as the sound of boiling water increased in volume. Then the kettle emitted a whistle. Just as Eva removed it from the stove and poured its contents onto the coffee powder in the pot, Heinrich came in brandishing the map. The situation was all very exciting and becoming steadily more so, he said. Had we listened to the radio?

Eva said no. My partner begged Heinrich not to keep her on tenterhooks.

He announced that he had unashamedly called various people he’d spoken to only two or three times at most, having had to look up their numbers in the telephone directory. In view of the prevailing emergency, however, it had been easy to talk with them. Everyone was eager to exchange views with other people, and many phone numbers were engaged; the camera killer was clearly generating a lot of business for the post office this afternoon.

If he didn’t come out with it at once, said my partner, she would go mad.

Heinrich laughed. To cut a long story short, he said, it seemed we were surrounded.

What? my partner cried.

He repeated that there was some evidence that we, or the area in which the Stubenrauchs’ residence happened to be situated, had been encircled. My partner requested him to quickly give us a brief but more detailed explanation. Heinrich sat down, spread
out the map on the table, and picked up a pen. According to his information, he said, police were stationed here (he made a mark) and were advancing (he drew an arrow) in this direction. They were also here, here, and here. At every “here,” he made another mark on the map. The marks formed a circle, which he joined up with the ballpoint. What was more, said Eva, the circle was getting smaller.

Resting the elbow of her right arm on Heinrich’s shoulder, she remarked that the police really did seem to be looking for the killer nearby.

It gets even more interesting, said Heinrich. His telephone calls had been extremely illuminating. Wild rumors were circulating. A garage mechanic’s wife with whom he had spoken claimed to have definitely heard shots in the woods adjoining her property. Other people had indirectly confirmed this by asserting that the murderer was being hunted in the Lechnerwald, a wooded area thirty or forty acres in extent and known by the name of its owner, a Herr Lechner.

Someone else had also testified to hearing shots. Against this, the story of the shots had been consigned to the realm of fantasy by a restaurateur whose gastronomic establishment was situated only a hundred yards from the garage mechanic’s house. He did not, however, hesitate to concede that he was hard of hearing; moreover, he had been busy tasting wine in the cellar and might have been distracted thereby.

Summing up, Heinrich said that the modus operandi adopted by the police made an uncoordinated and ill-considered impression—unless, of course, they knew precisely where the killer was. If he were definitely in a cordoned-off patch of forest (e.g., the aforementioned Lechnerwald), their initiative was to be welcomed, but if the authorities merely surmised him to be somewhere inside the circle on the map, the devil was in the details.

In fact, it wasn’t out of the question that my partner’s presentiment would prove correct: If cornered, the killer might take a hostage. However, nothing was known for certain.

Personally, said Heinrich, he now believed that the man was not in the vicinity.

At that moment, my partner, staring stiffly out the window, declared that she couldn’t believe her eyes. We went over to her. Despite this, my partner behaved as if she had to tell us what she was seeing. The farmer was coming out of his house with his wife and a great big rifle in his hands, she said, ready to fire.

Here comes Rambo! cried Heinrich. How nice, we were going to have guests or reinforcements, whichever, and my partner ought to be pleased.

She, however, stated that she wouldn’t remain in the same room as that madman, not at any price; he was quite capable of blazing away in all directions. At any rate, he shouldn’t be offered any hard liquor.

Heinrich did not appear to take my partner’s misgivings very seriously. He went to the front door and opened it. As before, the farmer omitted to remove his boots. He marched into the kitchen complete with hat, jacket, overalls, boots, and the rifle on his shoulder. We greeted him. He sat down, emitting a distinctly flatulent expulsion of wind as he did so.

His wife handed Eva a circular tin approximately ten inches in diameter and filled with cookies, saying that it would provide us with something to eat. Eva replied that it wasn’t necessary but thanked her warmly and invited her to sit down; coffee would be served at once.

Heinrich deposited a schnapps glass and a bottle filled with transparent liquid in front of the farmer. Heedless of my partner’s dissuasive gestures, he invited him to help himself. The farmer wasted no time in doing so, remarking—without a smile—that
it would improve his aim. Well done, my partner told Heinrich in an undertone, failing to grasp that she could be heard all over the room.

Heinrich informed the farmer of what he had managed to learn on the phone. The farmer’s wife appeared to have conducted the phone calls to their neighbors. She spoke of similar matters but added that a house search was rumored to have been carried out in an unidentified location in the vicinity.

Heinrich turned on the kitchen radio and resumed his seat. The farmer spoke for the first time: He requested Heinrich to turn off the radio on the grounds that we would fail to hear what was happening outside the house. Heinrich complied, saying that the radio wouldn’t broadcast an all clear, in any case.

Eva, who had poured everyone a second cup of coffee by now, passed the cookies around again. While doing so, she extolled their quality and inquired if the farmer’s wife had baked them herself. The farmer’s wife confirmed this. She and Eva exchanged opinions on the correct way of making various desserts.

The farmer, who refused to be parted from his rifle even when seated, drank a second apricot brandy. Then he wiped his lips on the sleeve of his jacket and indulged in some uncouth behavior (ordering his wife to keep her voice down, peremptorily requesting Heinrich to open the window, saying that one could never tell and he wanted to hear and be prepared). My partner sighed and rose to her feet. Heinrich opened the window. It was quite evident that he was smiling, apparently not offended by the farmer’s brusque manner.

Eva succeeded in engaging my partner in a conversation about various aspects of cuisine, with the result that, after a minute or two, her face relaxed to such an extent that a timid smile became discernible.

Heinrich said he had to fetch something and left the kitchen. Before closing the door, he gave me a surreptitious signal to follow him. I obeyed his invitation.

Before I had even reached the door, my partner hailed me. What was I up to and where was I going?

I replied that I had to go to the bathroom, if I might be so permitted. My remark evoked reactions ranging from grins to laughter from all present, even the farmer, who was still sitting there with his hat on.

Heinrich was waiting for me in the hall. He was feeling tense, he whispered, and this coffee party didn’t appeal to him. He wanted to go outside and take a look—see where the police were prowling around and how far away they were. Would I come with him?

I agreed to, but pointed out that our plan was bound to meet with my partner’s disapproval. She had more than once expressed the wish that we all stay together. Moreover, she disagreed with the presence of the armed and schnapps-drinking farmer. If we were not there, I said, she might find him even more of a threat.

Heinrich conceded this. He propped his chin on his fist. After a while, he said he had found the answer. We should explain that we wanted to clarify the situation by speaking with the police in person. I didn’t consider this the best plan possible, I said, but it was worth a try.

I followed Heinrich into the living room. He turned on the television news, then switched from channel to channel. On one channel, we saw a helicopter shot of the area in which we ourselves were located. Fancy that, said Heinrich.

A subtitle stated that the report was coming live from West Styria. Heinrich said we ought soon to set off to speak with the police; we could watch the rest on television later. We had bet
ter not mention this broadcast to my partner, he added; it might make her nervous.

I agreed.

We went back into the kitchen. In the doorway, we nearly bumped into the farmer. He had his gun on his shoulder and was trying to get past us. Heinrich inquired where he was going. The farmer said he intended to take up his post outside and lie in wait for the killer. Heinrich let him go.

When the door had closed behind the farmer, Heinrich jokingly asked his wife how much liquor her husband could take before he lost control over his trigger finger. Unsmiling, she declared that her husband could take a great deal, had hardly touched a drop, and there was no need to worry—for us, at least, though the killer had better watch his step.

Outside the house, the farmer was gesticulating and calling something to us. We couldn’t understand him because my partner had shut the window again after his exit. Heinrich went out into the yard. We already knew what he had to tell us when he returned because we could hear it ourselves: A helicopter was thundering overhead. Heinrich said he proposed to go with me and look for the police.

Predictably enough, my partner vetoed this. What was that supposed to mean? she demanded; it was out of the question.

Heinrich said it was urgently necessary for us to speak with the police. Did she want to sit there quaking with fear for hours in ignorance of what was really happening?

No, said my partner, she didn’t, but the idea of sitting there all by herself appealed to her even less.

She wouldn’t be sitting there all by herself, Heinrich retorted; Eva and the lady from next door were there too. As for personal protection, their resolute and courageous neighbor outside was the most suitable man for the purpose.

It was noticeable that this very argument aroused mixed feelings in my partner. Doubtless from a sense of discretion, however, she refrained from informing his wife of her misgivings about the man patrolling outside the front door.

So Heinrich slipped on his shoes and gestured me to follow his example before any further objection could be raised. We waved to the ladies left behind in the kitchen and went outside the house, where we explained our intention to the farmer. We requested him, in the event that he had to open fire, to double-check whom he was aiming at, because it might be one of us. The farmer declared that he was an experienced hunter who never missed his target and selected it with care, could tell the difference between an ibex and a stag and a stag and a man, and so on and so forth.

I followed at Heinrich’s heels. In our loafers, which were not best suited to the weather conditions, and which squelched in the residual moisture left by the rainstorm, we made our way across country in the direction of our improvised badminton court. Heinrich opined that, in his estimation, that was where we could expect to encounter the nearest police unit.

It was chilly, and we both found we were dressed too lightly. This we endeavored to offset by striding out more briskly. While we were forging our way uphill through bushes and tall grass, Heinrich said he felt very tempted to play a practical joke on our return. He owned a video camera, he said. Armed with this, he proposed to appear at the kitchen window and, without revealing his identity, film the interior.

However, he doubted it would be desirable to put this idea into effect. In the first place, there was a risk that some more sensitive soul (e.g., my partner) might be genuinely traumatized. A schoolboy prank was one thing, but he had no wish to be responsible for inducing a heart attack. Secondly, it wasn’t beyond the
bounds of possibility that the farmer would lose his head and make use of his firearm. Both of those eventualities had to be precluded, and he supposed that was impracticable. I agreed with him.