by Ally Rose
Horst nodded. ‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Follow me and I’ll park by the lake,’ Felix instructed.
Horst followed Felix to the banks of Muggelsee, avoiding the main jetty in Kopenick. Here, a large ferry on the River Spree linked residents and commuters directly to Berlin. There were four other jetties on the water, at the north, south, east and western sections of the lake where smaller ferries passed, and visitors and residents could hop on and off around the lake. Felix knew his way around this area now from visiting Martha and like the locals, he also knew the murky depths of the water.
It was dark and quietly eerie on the lake, which was devoid of people when Felix parked his Schwalbe and joined Horst in his car at the south jetty. The car headlights stayed on and lit up the water. It felt strange to be in close proximity to someone whom he despised and was repulsed by, smelling Horst’s still familiar pungent after shave which he had always scrubbed away ferociously once the Musketeer had finished with him. It made Felix feel nauseous to breathe the same air as Horst.
‘Well, here we are,’ Horst began. ‘The Mayor’s nephew, no less.’
‘I can see you’re impressed.’ Felix’s tone was sarcastic. ‘Don’t be expecting an invite to the Burgermeister’s for dinner.’
‘Think you’re better than me now, do you?’ said Horst.
‘I’m from a good family. I should never have ended up at Torgau.’
‘So I see. The Stasi made mistakes too,’ Horst replied.
‘And you?’ Felix challenged him. ‘Are you from a good family?’
Horst’s answer was composed. ‘Families can lift you up or drag you down. I have no family, no dependents, I’m a loner and I like it that way. You’ve grown up since we last met, how long has it been? Two or three years, I think.’
‘I recognised you,’ Felix said, stony-faced. ‘How could I forget your ugly face?’
‘Oh, Felix, don’t be so cruel to a former lover.’
Felix shook his head. ‘That’s not what we were.’
They both felt their hackles rise. It was going to be a strategic game of chess with the outcome unknown and undecided.
‘And your sister?’ Horst enquired.
‘She died.’ It was a form of weakness to show empathy, Horst reminded himself. ‘Did she die in childbirth?’ he enquired, with a certain vitriolic relish.
‘Something like that,’ Felix replied, the rage inside him beginning to swell.
‘Well, you came back from the dead. Question is, what are we going to do now?’
‘Let the police decide,’ Felix declared.
‘No way! There’ll be no Nuremberg trial for me. I’m not going to turn myself over to the police or face a life on the run.’
Felix was adamant. ‘You’re a paedophile. Talk yourself out of that.’
‘It was only sex. We both enjoyed it.’
Felix wanted to hit him but held himself back. ‘You’re a sick bastard. You abused my sister and me and I’m not going to let you get away with it.’
Horst tried to remain calm but was getting hot, so he wound down the car window. He couldn’t lose this battle, he wasn’t going to be outwitted by this Torgau kid.
‘I can see you’re not afraid any more.’
‘No!’ said Felix emphatically. ‘Maybe it’s you who’s afraid?’
Horst scratched his chin. ‘If you tell the police and it goes to trial, you realise you’ll be in the dock too, giving evidence. You’ll have to say in front of everyone what I made you do, how you and your sister were shared by the Musketeers.’
‘If it means stopping you abusing other kids, I’d do it.’
‘Oh, Felix, don’t be naïve,’ Horst smirked. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a red diary and waved it about. ‘In here is a list of all my colleagues at Torgau and lots of other men with my, let’s say, proclivities. The list is endless… It would only take one call from me and they’d very quickly be up your arse again… literally.’
Felix was so angry he was at bursting point. ‘All for one and one for all. Wasn’t that your motto, what you used to say?’
‘Felix, you’re a little too old for my liking but if you involve the police, your nephew – Axel, isn’t it? I saw him at the golf club, such a sweet little boy – will be kidnapped by one of my “friends” in my little red book. And that’s a promise.’
Their game of psychological chess had reached its climax. The next move for either side was checkmate.
Felix reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a gun. Horst was visibly taken aback.
‘See this? It’s a rapid fire pistol, similar to the one used by Ralf Schumann when he won the Olympic gold medal for Germany in Barcelona last month. When I recognised you at the club today, I had the feeling our paths would cross and went home for the gun.’
For the first time, Horst felt fear. ‘Felix. Don’t be silly, we both know you’re not going to use it.’
‘You don’t know me, or what I’m capable of. You’re right about the trial, though. I’d find it hard, telling my family and the court how you fucked with me, and I’ll never forgive you for taking my sister from me.’
Horst lunged at Felix and the gun. Taken by surprise, they struggled, hitting, punching, pulling and tugging as their veins pumped with adrenalin before Felix took control and hit Horst on the head with it, time after time, stunning him and giving Felix a few seconds to run to his Schwalbe. There was no one in sight and in his rucksack was his boat knife and some anchor rope which he took back to the car.
Binding Horst’s hands to the steering wheel, he tied the Musketeer’s legs together.
Horst stirred from his daze. ‘Untie me, you bastard!’
‘Fuck off!’ Felix snarled.
Horst tried to wriggle free. ‘Stupid Torgau boy. I’ll fucking kill you!’ he screamed.
Felix laughed. ‘Don’t you like being the underdog to the Torgau boy?’
He was in control now, it was his choice whether to call the police or take retribution of his own. He debated the pros and cons. Allowing justice to take its course would all be so complicated and the outcome wasn’t a foregone conclusion – Horst would manipulate and lie through his teeth. The decision was made for him when he saw Horst’s red diary on the passenger seat. There was only one thing he had to do and that was protect Axel.
‘You’ll regret this, Waltz.’
‘Shut up!’ Felix bellowed in Horst’s face.
Horst struggled to free himself and began screaming. ‘Help! Someone help me!’
‘Shall I burn your ears?’ said Felix. ‘When I look at my ears in the mirror I’m reminded of you!’ He grabbed Horst’s ears and made a few wild swipes, cutting indiscriminately with his boat knife. Horst’s lobes split at the bottom and blood spurted out as he screamed.
Felix smirked. ‘Now we’ll both have scarred ears. One for all and all for one!’
‘Help! Someone help me!’ Horst yelled.
‘No one can hear you. You’ll be a weggesperrt , forgotten… No one will care or miss a fucking paedophile,’ Felix shouted.
His beloved Susi flashed into his mind. He remembered what she’d said just before she jumped to her death, how she’d spoken about the shame of the identity of Axel’s father and how it had destroyed her. Felix now had an opportunity to find out who the father was and in a moment of lucidity, hacked off a hefty chunk of Horst’s short hair, wrapping the cuttings in a tissue and putting it in his rucksack, knowing DNA testing would confirm parentage.
‘Let me go!’ Horst pleaded.
Felix looked at the pathetic, bloodstained ‘Musketeer’ and decided to give him one last chance. ‘Tell me you’re sorry that you ruined my sister’s life – and mine.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Horst said, too quickly to convince Felix.
‘Liar!’ Felix screamed and grabbing Horst’s hair, he rammed his bloody head repeatedly against the steering wheel until he lost unconsciousness.
There was no turning bac
k now. Felix sat on the grass next to the car to catch his breath. Noises from the surrounding woodlands amplified all around him and he imagined something was lurking in the shadows but it was only the natural sounds of the night carried by the breeze. He was alone and no one could hear or see him, and the deed was only half done. He picked up Horst’s diary, then searched Horst’s floppy body for personal belongings, finding a mobile phone and a wallet. He put all these items into his rucksack by the Schwalbe.
Stripping to his boxer shorts, Felix started Horst’s car and drove it slowly onto the jetty. He untied Horst’s hands from the steering wheel and shoved the heavy frame of a blood-soaked Horst over to the passenger side, retying Horst’s hands to the passenger door. Then he got in at the driver’s side, accidentally switching on the car radio. The aria ‘Toreador’ from the Bizet’s opera ‘Carmen’ blared out into the dark night.
‘Toreador, en garde! Toreador, Toreador !’
Felix understood the paradox of this operatic song – a bullfighter in the ring with an enraged, black-eyed beast charging the matador – and himself, confronting a Musketeer. He turned up the volume, opened the car window on the driver’s side and both window in the back to ensure the water would flood in but that he could escape. He revved the engine and drove as fast as he could along the long jetty until the car took flight, projecting into the air and out over the lake before landing flat on the water.
With difficulty, Felix scrambled out onto the roof of the car where he stood, feeling like a mountaineer reaching the summit after a long, arduous climb. The ascent had been breathtaking and now he could admire the view.
‘Et songe bien, oui, songe bien en combattant, qu’un oeil noir te regarde… ’
Feeling vindicated and invincible, Felix began a jumping jig of a dance on the rooftop, hoping the pressure of his bouncing weight would make the car sink quicker.
The music resonated in the night air. ‘Toreador… ’
The water was rising and flooding through the car windows. Felix felt strangely elated and began to sing the words of the song.
‘Toreador, l’amour, t’attend! Toreador, Toreador, l’amour t’attend! ’
The last thing Horst heard at his dying breath, hoped Felix, was that the boy from Torgau was singing and dancing, having got the better of him.
The music suddenly muted and the headlights dimmed. The car was rolling in a lopsided fashion and sinking fast as the water had reached the roof. Felix dived away from the drag and pull of the car as it went under, swimming back to the safety of the jetty. Quickly, he dressed himself and fetched a torch from his rucksack, shining it on the water, anxious to see that Horst hadn’t miraculously escaped. Ten minutes later, Felix felt satisfied the evil Musketeer had sunk without a trace.
Chapter Twelve: The Days That Followed
FELIX WOKE UP THE next morning alone in Gertrude’s house. He hadn’t slept well, tormented by the images of what had happened last night at Muggelsee. He was now a murderer. Unplanned, but that was the outcome and the sum total of all his actions the previous night. How was a murderer supposed to feel?
Horst had made him feel dirty again and his hands were sore from constantly washing them during the night. And what did he think about himself? Was he proud of the choice he had made to kill Horst? In addition to his Torgau secrets, was this going to be the hardest secret to keep? Could anyone understand if he shared this secret with them? Would he lose Klaus and Ingrid’s love, and now, more importantly, Martha’s love?
Felix knew he had to stay silent and live a lie, keeping his secrets, as he always did, locked in the dark recesses of his mind. He believed he had left no clues at the scene of the crime and surreptitiously returned to the cottage when nobody was around to return the gun, wiped clean of his fingerprints. Horst’s mobile and wallet he secreted safely in his old hideaway in Das Kino. The hair clippings he placed in an envelope and wrote the letters ‘HG’ on it. A thought crossed his mind: what if Horst had telephoned one of his friends in the red diary and told them Felix Waltz was alive and where to find him? Felix switched on the mobile phone and looked at the last calls and texts Horst had made. No calls or text messages had been sent for two days – before the golf tournament had even begun. Felix was in the clear.
Looking through Horst’s diary, some of the names inside seemed familiar and it began to dawn on Felix that he couldn’t just get rid of one of the Musketeers. He needed the DNA from all three, to find out which one was Axel’s father, and he couldn’t take it from them if they were alive. No, all three Musketeers had to die. One for all and all for one, as he’d heard them say so many times.
But was taking the law into your own hands ever justified? The saying ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right’ echoed in Felix’s brain, yet he was a murderer and to convince himself he was a vigilante acting on his nephew’s behalf was a paradox. Axel was not free of danger if the Musketeers stayed alive and Felix couldn’t relax knowing that they or their paedophile associates might turn up unannounced in the future to harm the little boy.
No, there was no turning back. Felix went over and over it in his head, wanting to be sure he was making such monumental decisions for the right reasons. There were three, he rationalised: to safeguard Axel, first and foremost, for his own revenge, and to uncover the truth about Axel’s true parentage. To label his motives for murder seemed a bizarre ritual, but in Felix’s complex mind it was clear and succinct.
Revenge was perfectly understandable given the circumstances at Torgau: an eye for an eye. He recalled the surprisingly powerful adrenaline rush and the thrill it had given him to be in control of Horst and ultimately, his destiny. Perhaps this made him no better than the depraved monsters he was seeking to punish? And yet who else would punish them for their heinous crimes if he himself didn’t? He hadn’t gone looking for trouble, trouble had found him. Felix had taken a gun to defend himself with no intention of using it. The gun was simply a bargaining tool.
But why hadn’t he fired the gun? It was clear he’d wanted Horst dead. One single bullet to the head would have done the deed without the added fuss and danger he put himself in. It would have been over too quickly and that wouldn’t have caused the Musketeer enough suffering, Felix decided. He had wanted Horst to feel weak, helpless and afraid; to feel like ‘little Felix’ and ‘little Susi’ had felt. The Musketeer had showed no sense of shame or remorse and instead had taunted Felix with threats, waving his red diary in front of him. By doing this, Horst had decided his own fate.
Felix convinced himself that he could live with the truth that he was as capable of murder as any man, given the circumstances and opportunity. There would be a limit to how many paedophiles needed to die to ensure Axel’s future safety. His four targets were the Musketeers and their go-between. As for the rest of the paedophiles in the red diary, he had to be clever and plot a plausible subterfuge, informing the police by surreptitious means, thereby diverting attention away from himself. It needed a clear head to think through how he was going to manage this but he would do his best not to get caught and hope no one ever found out.
At the golf club, the players arrived early to practise on the second day of the tournament whilst television crews took their positions alongside the stewards, and the public were let in. Felix arrived a little bleary-eyed, greeted by Bernd in the men’s locker room.
‘You left the party early, so why do you look so tired?’ Bernd joked.
‘Herr Burgermeister, it’s far too early for your pathetic jokes!’ Felix snapped at his uncle.
Bernd wasn’t going to take such rudeness. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that!’
Felix realised he’d stepped out of line and made a mistake. His tone was sincere. ‘Onkel, I’m sorry, really.’
Noticing the scratches and bruises on Felix’s face, Bernd said sternly: ‘Don’t take your bad moods out on other people.’ Looking at Felix’s swollen face, he added: ‘What’s happened? Have you been in a fight?’
‘N
o.’ Felix said the first thing that came into his head. ‘I fell off my Schwalbe.’
Bernd was concerned. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Just cross with myself. Sorry.’
‘Best not tell Ingrid, she hates motorbikes and she worries about you. Felix, one of the security guys hasn’t turned up, so they’re a man down. If they need help, can you give them a hand later on?’ Bernd asked.
‘Of course.’
Left alone in the locker room, Felix glanced at his face in the mirror. In a few days the marks from Muggelsee would fade. He needed to get stronger and fitter if he was going to overcome the other Musketeers. Horst had been no pushover and Felix’s body ached from their pugnacious encounter.
Over the next two days, Felix wondered if Horst had been officially reported missing. It unsettled him every time the news came on and he felt mightily relieved every time when nothing about Horst or his car being discovered at Muggelsee was mentioned. Horst had clearly been telling the truth about not having a family or any close relationships because he had disappeared without a trace and no one seemed to miss him.
The golf tournament ended and everyone deemed it a great success. Bernd and Klaus threw a party for the family and staff at the club and Martha came for the celebrations. Felix was his usual gentle self with Martha; he couldn’t behave any differently with her, although she noticed his bruises immediately.
‘You look as if you’ve been in a fight?’
‘Yeah, I had a fight at Carsten’s boxing club. You don’t mind if I take up boxing do you?’ he lied.
Martha laughed. ‘It’ll ruin your good looks, but I’ll love you anyway. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how red your hands are. What’s up?’
‘When I’m stressed, I wash them – excessively. It’s something I started at Torgau and it returns occasionally.’ Martha was concerned. ‘What’s happened to make you feel so stressed?’
Felix lied again. ‘The tournament’s been manic here all week, I’ve worked from the crack of dawn till midnight and I’m tired, that’s all.’
