The Camera Killer (9 page)

Heinrich said he’d never encountered such a person in his life, and he regretted not being one of the policemen actively involved in hunting for the killer; he would gladly exchange a few words with the fellow.

The cameraman said he would now start counting. Cut. 4:09. The camera panned across the whole terrain. Not a child in sight anywhere.

The presenter reappeared on screen. She urgently advised viewers to use the TV station’s psychological counseling service. Telephone numbers were screened.

Heinrich switched off. Now we know, he said. He hoped the women would soon be back with the milk; he wanted to drive to Frauenkirchen and try to make contact with his acquaintance in the police.

Since the women still hadn’t returned, he offered to play a game of sixty-six with me. He went and got the deck of cards. I won the first game. Halfway through the second, the score stood at 4:3 to Heinrich.

Just then, the women came in. They expressed surprise that we weren’t sitting in front of the television, studying the latest reports. Eva said they had paid a brief visit to the farmer and his wife. Sadly, not a normal word had been uttered; the house next door was dominated by the murders. The farmer’s wife had been sitting in the kitchen in tears. Terribly upset by her crying fit, the farmer had stomped around and announced his intention of fetching his rifle. Eva had injudiciously mentioned Heinrich’s Austria 2 report to the effect that the killer was heading in our direction. The farmer had promptly proceeded to put his threat into effect and made to leave the kitchen to get his gun. A dramatic scene ensued.

The farmer’s wife barred his exit from the kitchen and loudly implored him not to bring misfortune down on their heads. She argued that a certain Alois Schober, who turned out to be a policeman known to the farmer’s family, would clinch matters either on his own or with his colleagues. The farmer ordered her to get out of his way. He didn’t intend to join the manhunt, he said; he merely planned to defend his farm if the murderer showed up there; were he to put a bullet in the scoundrel’s head, it would be an accident or self-defense or both. Eva too endeavored to calm the farmer down but was flatly ignored by him.

Heinrich asked how the incident had ended. The farmer’s wife was sitting distraught in the kitchen, said Eva, and the farmer was probably loading his rifle. Laughing, Heinrich expressed the theory that we truly weren’t safe here anymore—not because of the murderer, whose advent was unlikely, but because of a neighbor who was not only armed but obviously overwrought. My partner said she didn’t think this funny. Heinrich pooh-poohed her interjection and said the farmer would simmer down.

If the ladies insisted on doing something today, he suggested driving to Frauenkirchen, where he wanted to try to locate the policeman of his acquaintance.

What policeman? asked Eva.

The one who had been so helpful and informative when he was changing his car papers, Heinrich replied. He’d told her about him—surely she must remember?

Actually, said my partner, she’d had something different in mind.

Eva sighed. The murderer had completely ruined her weekend, she said, but in view of the existence of the Café Wurm, she would consent to go to Frauenkirchen. My partner reminded Eva that some people’s weekend had been even more thoroughly ruined than hers.

Heinrich nodded, raised his arms, and flapped them like a child falling from a great height. My partner called him a monster. Eva said she was well acquainted with his obnoxious and incurable cynicism. Heinrich laughed and said sorry, he couldn’t help himself; his gesture had been prompted by an inner compulsion. The women shook their heads.

Eva said that any repetition of such behavior would cause her to obey an inner compulsion to slap his face.

Well, said Heinrich, how about it? Were they coming, or was he to drive to Frauenkirchen on his own?

My partner retorted that he was out of his mind. She wouldn’t stay here on her own for anything in the world, not with a trigger-happy farmer twenty yards away and the prospect of encountering the camera killer.

Eva said that going to Frauenkirchen presented an opportunity to partake of an iced coffee at the Café Wurm. In the meantime, those two (meaning Heinrich and me) could go in search of their policeman.

Fine, said my partner, she liked iced coffee; above all, though, she would feel safer with other people around.

Heinrich clapped his hands and said, Let’s go.

My partner and Eva protested that they hadn’t changed or made their faces up. That could take some time, Heinrich groaned, and he invited me to resume our card game. I declined because it occurred to me that I still hadn’t brushed my teeth that morning. I wanted to remedy this deficiency and have a shower as well. Heinrich brusquely said there really wasn’t time for that, so I agreed to temporarily confine myself to brushing my teeth and washing my face and make up for the omission by showering that afternoon.

Heinrich: You don’t imagine I’ve had a wash, do you? Eva overheard this and called him a pig. He chuckled but accompanied
me into the bathroom, where we attended to our dental hygiene, standing side by side at the sink.

Eva laughed. Summoning my partner, she pointed to us and said, Didn’t we look sweet, like a brace of oxen in a stable.

Heinrich splashed the womenfolk with water and they withdrew.

When we were through, we went outside and took up our positions by the car. Its bodywork, which had been considerably heated by the sun, precluded any physical contact with it. We passed the time in trivial conversation. Now and then Heinrich would call in the direction of the house, demanding to know when the ladies might be expected to put in an appearance.

We chatted about the exceptional number of cats that were once more populating the yard, their problems in finding or obtaining food, and whether it mightn’t be better to castrate or sterilize them. Heinrich said the farmer was loath to spend any money on this but had devised a birth-control program of his own. Whenever a female turned up with her litter, he took the kittens away from their mother and flung them at a tree as hard as he could, killing them. This was undoubtedly cruel, but (a) it was the custom around here, and (b) the mother cats had become smart enough to conceal their offspring from the farmer and his attentions until they were big enough to fend for themselves. The farmer’s wife had told him all this one Sunday four weeks ago, Heinrich said in conclusion.

My partner and Eva appeared at last. Heinrich opened the door for them. My partner said we could be sure she wouldn’t be first to enter the house on our return. Even Eva grinned at this.

We got into the Stubenrauchs’ car. Heinrich seated himself at the wheel with me in the passenger seat and Eva and my partner behind us on the left and right, respectively. When driving out, we had to be careful not to run over any cats, but the animals
were well trained and fled in all directions when the car started up. Heinrich said one could never tell.

When we were out on the highway, he suggested making a deal with the farmer: The latter should undertake to pay him a certain sum or give him a rebate on his monthly rent for every cat he killed. He was sure the man would agree, he said. Eva told him to stop it. Heinrich added that the deal was impracticable, in any case, because the task of washing feline remains off his tires would be too distasteful. Eva asked why he always had to rile her in such a disgusting manner. Heinrich laughed and promised to say no more.

He turned on the radio. According to the news, the German commercial station that transmitted the murder video had laid itself open to penalties ranging from a substantial fine to withdrawal of its broadcasting license. Heinrich said that things were never as black as they were painted; he felt sure the broadcasters had sufficient contacts with politicians and other influential individuals to stave off the worst. My partner agreed. Those people knew the ropes, she said.

Referring to the manhunt, the newscaster stated that several leads to the murderer’s car had been followed up, but also to actual persons, all of them residents in West Styria, and that investigations were in full swing. Heinrich said he very much hoped his policeman acquaintance would be able to provide more details.

Eva started to talk to my partner about iced coffee and the Café Wurm. The ice creams there were of the highest quality, she said, and the cakes weren’t to be sneezed at either. My partner inquired whether the Café Wurm stocked Malakoff tortes. Eva said she didn’t know, but its range of cakes and pastries was so large that the chances were very good.

The radio announcer said they would shortly be broadcasting a sound excerpt from the murder video in order to publicize the killer’s voice. Oh no, said Eva, and my partner exclaimed that she didn’t need this. Eva leaned forward between the front seats and urgently requested Heinrich to change stations at once. He shrugged and inserted a cassette in the deck. Eva sat back again and said, Thanks very much.

After a while, my partner asked Heinrich to drive somewhat slower and refrain from cornering so sharply because she was starting to feel sick. Heinrich claimed to be driving as sedately as an angel, but he moderated his speed for the rest of the trip.

On arrival in Frauenkirchen, we soon had to leave the car behind. There was no hope of finding a parking place in the middle of town, so we got out and proceeded on foot. On the way, we saw cars and buses bearing inscriptions that betrayed they belonged to broadcasting personnel.

Orally and by pointing, Eva drew our attention to the local church, which was draped in black bunting. A lot of the houses too were flying black flags. On closer inspection, many of these turned out to be skirts, pants, coats, blankets, etc.

The end justifies the means, said Heinrich.

It’s the gesture that counts, Eva added.

My partner said she couldn’t believe how crowded the town was and could already sense the dismal atmosphere prevailing there. She had underestimated this and doubted her ability to relish any Malakoff torte.

Meantime, Heinrich had broken into a trot and was some thirty feet ahead of us. I increased my own rate of advance. When I caught up to him, he called over his shoulder that he and I would go to the police station; Eva and my partner should go to the Café Wurm, and we would join them there later.

Heinrich towed me across the street by my shirtsleeve. There was such a crush we had difficulty making any progress, and I had to be careful not to lose him in the crowd.

Near the church, we encountered the Easter procession, which was evidently on its way back from the cemetery after collecting the body of Our Lord. In the lead were three ministrants with a cross. Behind them came the parish priest flanked by schoolchildren and altar boys bearing holy water, and ordinary worshipers brought up the rear.

Here comes Christ’s mortician, quipped Heinrich.

The people around us removed their headgear. There was little talking. Spectators who were obviously from out of town stared at the procession and conversed in low voices. It took us considerable time to get anywhere near the police station. Unoccupied patrol cars were parked there with their blue lights flashing. They were cordoned off from the crowd by ropes and policemen armed with radios and pistols, presumably to enable the vehicles to enter and leave.

Here we are, said Heinrich, but how do we get in? In fact, we were unable even to reach the rope across the entrance to the police station. This is ridiculous, said Heinrich. He thought for a moment, then said he would phone; it must be possible to telephone the station—someone might want to report an emergency.

And so, grunting and mopping our perspiring brows, we made our way to back to a bus stop, beside which, in addition to the bus shelter, stood a public telephone booth. Heinrich had no small change. I felt in my pocket and handed him two twenty-cent coins and six ten-cent pieces. He asked me to wait outside the booth, saying that it was too cramped to accommodate us both. Besides, the heat would render a sojourn inside it even more unpleasant for a twosome, and anyway, he didn’t care to be listened to when he was on the phone.

In the course of the approximately fifteen minutes I spent standing around idly outside the booth, two people, clearly local inhabitants, came up and handed me a sheet of yellow paper. It bore an artist’s impression of the killer and a description of his clothing. Beneath this were telephone numbers to be called for the purpose of passing on relevant information. Right at the foot, someone had added by hand:
Reward €10,000 (Herr Josef Federl of Federl’s Mill)
. The whole thing was ill-printed and askew, and the sheet was dog-eared.

Heinrich emerged from the telephone booth. Peering over my shoulder, he remarked that the picture bore a resemblance not only to his mother-in-law but to one of the stray cats in the farmyard.

I asked him what he had managed to glean. Nothing, he said, though not for want of trying more than once. The friendly policeman hadn’t been at all friendly today; he had said he responded to emergency calls only and would not divulge any information. Heinrich had called again, this time pretending to be a journalist, but had been advised to attend the forthcoming press conference.

We betook ourselves to the Café Wurm, surveyed the tables in the garden without sighting our womenfolk, and went inside. The establishment was grossly overcrowded. Waitresses in white aprons were threading their way through the throng of standing or seated customers with trays above their heads. Although every window and door was wide open, the place was thick with tobacco smoke.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was my partner. She said we must be blind; she and Eva had been sitting in the garden and had waved to us. We followed her outside. There was one chair too few, but Heinrich soon managed to get hold of another. I noticed that lying on every table was a yellow leaflet like the one I’d been handed outside the telephone booth.

We ordered coffees. Heinrich reported on his fruitless endeavors.

My partner, who said she found the café thoroughly uncongenial, urged us to drink up.