The Camera Killer (14 page)

After climbing the hill, we looked around us in a 360-degree arc. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, just a pheasant crowing and fluttering in a cornfield. Heinrich pointed to a patch of forest a half mile from our own location. That was the Lechnerwald, he said; to the best of his knowledge, the police were in there.

We debated what to do. After all, we couldn’t dismiss the possibility that we might strike the police as suspicious and get into trouble. Heinrich indicated a spot not far away: the end of a row of leafy trees that led to the vicinity of the forest. If we reached that row of trees, he said, we might be able to get to the forest and, thus, to the policemen concealed within it.

I queried the necessity for these precautionary measures. After all, I said, we intended to speak with the police. Heinrich said he had completely abandoned that idea. There was no point in talking to them; they would not divulge any information to us, in any case. He thought it sufficient to locate them and deduce where they were headed and what they were up to.

I objected that this would not enable us to bring my partner the detailed information she had requested. Heinrich said he already had an idea and would think of something. I pronounced myself satisfied with this.

When we reached the row of trees, Heinrich told me to keep low. We crouched down behind a tree. From there, on a road some five hundred to six hundred yards away, we saw a police car. Where’s it going? said Heinrich. Is it heading for our place? Let’s see whether it turns off.

The car really was heading for the vicinity of the Stubenrauchs’ residence. Instead of turning right, however, as it would have had
to in order to get there, it drove straight on along the main road. From one point of view, said Heinrich, he regretted this because a visit from the guardians of the law would certainly have relieved the strain on my partner’s nerves; on the other hand, a full explanation of the situation would rob it of its excitement.

He was feeling a little as he had when playing cops and robbers in his childhood. Don’t laugh at me, he said, raising his voice because another helicopter—not the one we had sighted earlier—was flying past at low altitude approximately a hundred yards from us.

We made our way toward the Lechnerwald. Before we reached it, Heinrich turned to me and put a finger to his lips. We tiptoed on. Soon we heard dogs barking and, shortly thereafter, voices.

What if he waited for the policemen here, Heinrich whispered, standing with his legs apart and a video camera aimed at their advancing figures? That would give them a shock. He laughed as he said this.

Pausing behind a tree with a massive trunk, we peered in the direction from which the voices were coming. Soon afterward, we caught sight of several policemen with dogs on leashes.

Damnation, said Heinrich, they’re heading this way—let’s go.

I followed him back to the end of the row of trees. There he said he wanted to go reconnoitering elsewhere.

Hurriedly, we set off to the west. We had not gone far when we made out some figures in open country around a mile away. Heinrich definitely identified them as policemen. Now we knew the score, he said; either the forces of law and order were a bunch of bunglers, or the man with cinematic ambitions was hiding in the trigger-happy farmer’s loft, and he considered the former alternative more likely.

He suggested we retrace our steps, notify the others, and turn on the television. I agreed, so we walked swiftly back to
the Stubenrauchs’ house. Around a quarter of a mile before we got there, Heinrich started calling the farmer’s name lest he take fright or yield to the temptation to try out his skill as a marksman. The man waved to us when we reached the farmyard. All he had seen, he said, was two helicopters.

Heinrich told him that we had sighted a number of policemen and that it was probable we would soon be receiving visitors. Good, said the farmer; he had no wish to hang around there forever. Loudly calling out that it was us, Heinrich and I went into the house.

Eva was just replacing the telephone receiver. The phone had never stopped ringing, she said. Her mother had sent her regards and advised us all to drive to her place at once; she had been listening to the radio and watching television and was terribly alarmed. Other callers, people from the neighborhood, had asserted that the killer was in the immediate vicinity of the Stubenrauch residence. Heinrich said we would soon know or could watch ourselves on television.

He went into the living room and turned on the television. The same channel as before was still showing aerial views of the district. Policemen could be seen. The commentator was inaudible over the noise of the helicopter.

Without turning off the television, Heinrich and I went into the kitchen and poured ourselves some lemonade. White as a sheet, my partner begged us to enlighten her. What had we managed to elicit and how did things stand?

Contrary to expectation, said Heinrich, we’d had no opportunity to speak with the police but had sighted a whole host of them. My partner had no need to worry, he told her; they were obviously on their way here, so she would soon be able to speak with them herself. It genuinely seemed either that the authorities were on the wrong track or that the camera killer was very close at hand.

My partner sprang to her feet. Why don’t they evacuate us? she cried. Why don’t they evacuate us? Exerting considerable vocal power, she demanded that we get into our cars and leave at once. Her lips trembled and she burst into tears.

On seeing how desperate she was, we stated our willingness to do as she wished. The farmer’s wife said she might leave too. On the other hand, she realized that her husband would never give way. She knew him of old; he was as stubborn as a mule, and she suspected him of planning to detain the murderer on his own initiative or put him out of action with a bullet. She would also prefer him to leave for fear of some mishap, etc., but it was no use. Heinrich and Eva said that if their neighbors were staying, we couldn’t leave either.

Convince him, cried my partner, convince him.

Heinrich went outside and conveyed her request to the farmer. Through the window, we saw the latter make a dismissive gesture, point to his house, and brandish his gun. My partner dashed outside with us at her heels. She planted herself in front of the farmer and shouted at him. The loudness of her voice was doubtless dictated by agitation, but also by the proximity of the helicopters, which were making a prodigious, incessant din.

We must leave here at once, my partner cried, waving her arms and jumping up and down in front of the farmer.

He shook his head. He was staying put, he said; the rest of us should go. That was out of the question, Heinrich replied. We—he meant my partner and me—wished to leave; he and Eva were staying. We two should drive to the nearest town and wait at a hotel there. This business would soon be over, he said, and we could keep abreast of developments by telephone. I asked my trembling partner if she approved of this course of action.

Just at that moment, Eva appeared at the living room window. We must see this, she called.

Hurrying over to her, we looked through the window and saw an aerial shot of the property on television. Everyone was clearly visible: the farmer with his gun, us outside the window, the parked cars—even the dressed-up cat fleeing from the noise in terror.

Heinrich left the window. Fantastic, he said, we’re on television! He hurried inside and turned on the video recorder so as to tape the broadcast. Then he rejoined us outside the house.

Look, he exclaimed, policemen!

We looked in the direction of his outstretched arm. Sure enough, a contingent of policemen with dogs was coming into view some four hundred yards away.

He’s here, I tell you, my partner yelled, and she ran off toward the oncoming policemen.

Eva made to go after her, but Heinrich told her to stay where she was. My partner’s nerves were completely shot, he said; if she would feel safer with the policemen, we oughtn’t stop her. He added that it was annoying we couldn’t hear what was being said on television because of the racket the helicopters were making.

We stood idly beside the window for a while. On the screen inside we saw my partner running toward the line of policemen, who were steadily converging.

Eva said she would bring out some drinks for us. No one else considered going back inside the house—that much was clear. Shortly after she disappeared into the building, she opened a kitchen window. We should go around the house and look in the other direction, she called. We complied with her request and were unsurprised to see dozens of policemen around two hundred yards away. They were also making straight for the properties of the Stubenrauchs and their neighbors.

We returned to the front of the house and the television window, whichever. The contingent of policemen with my partner in
their midst had approached to within approximately a hundred yards. A police car could be seen on television, driving along the road with its blue lights on.

Eva came out into the yard with a tray of drinks. She had heard on the radio that the inhabitants of the district were being instructed to go into their homes and lock their doors because of the hunt for the killer. With a nervous smile, she wondered if that applied in our case. After all, she said, the forces of law and order responsible for our protection were very close at hand and present in large numbers.

Heinrich laughed. No, he replied, he thought it was permissible for us to remain outside the house. He gave the nearest helicopter a wave. I saw this on the television and turned around.

We could already make out the faces of the approaching policemen. Although with them, my partner didn’t speak to anyone and remained on the sidelines. She was only wearing a T-shirt, so someone had draped a jacket around her shoulders. She was staring at the ground. The policewoman walking along close beside her was eying her with concern.

When the squad was within approximately twenty-five yards of us, it came to a halt. With a laugh, Heinrich called to my partner that all danger had been averted. He got no response, however. The body of policemen approaching from the other direction could now be seen from where we were standing. They halted about a hundred feet away.

We saw on television that the property was surrounded on all sides. The police car, lights flashing, came into view once more. The farmer asked both police contingents what was up. Were Herr Schober or Herr Haberfellner with them? One of the policemen called back, telling him to lay down his weapon at once. After some prevarication, the recipient of the order obeyed. The television deemed this incident worthy of a close-up.

The police car drove into the farmyard, siren wailing, and pulled up. The sound of the siren ceased; the blue lights continued to flash. Three policemen jumped out of the vehicle. The senior officer put his hands on his hips and surveyed his men and us in turn. I saw on the screen how Heinrich too kept turning to look at the television, on which the three policemen’s intervention could be observed. The senior officer took a few steps across the yard. He appeared to be examining the license plate numbers of the cars parked there. Then he jerked his thumb at one of the vehicles and asked whom it belonged to.

Them, Heinrich told him—his guests, in other words, my partner and me. The television clearly showed him pointing us out.

The senior officer and one of his men came over to me. We’ve got him, he said; that’s the man.

On the screen, I saw Eva, who was standing beside me with the tray, retreat several feet. Behind me, my partner started to scream. On the television, I saw handcuffs being produced and turned around. The officer in command announced that I was under arrest; I was charged with having murdered two children.

I do not deny this.

Photo by Ingo Pertramer © 2010

T
HOMAS GLAVINIC IS CONSIDERED
one of the guiding voices in Austrian literature. Born in 1972, he is the author of several novels, as well as a number of essays and short stories. His work has garnered both critical acclaim and commercial success and has been translated into sixteen languages. Glavinic worked as an advertising copywriter and taxi driver before releasing his debut novel,
Carl Haffner’s Love of the Draw
, in 1998.
The Camera Killer
is his third book to be published in English. It was awarded the 2002 Friedrich-Glauser Prize for crime fiction and has been adapted for the screen. Glavinic was short-listed for the German Book Prize in 2007, and his
How to Live
, forthcoming from AmazonCrossing, reached #1 on the Austrian best-seller list.