The Wages of Sin: A Kidnap, a Crucifixion, a Murderer on the Loose

by Inge Löhnig

  ‘But you’re also good-looking.’

  ‘Not in the past.’ And now it didn’t matter any more.

  ‘If men only fell in love with perfect shiny beauties, then I would probably be single,’ Melli said with a chuckle. ‘God only knows why Franz and I fell in love.’ Melli looked down at her hands. ‘Maybe because we can depend on each other and like each other just as we are. Franz is my rock. He’s got both feet on the ground.’

  ‘Rainer was different. Professionally, he was quite the pragmatist and always followed through on what he’d set out to do. He was really persistent.’ Agnes recalled that she had sometimes found that tenacity, bordering on stubbornness, disturbing. She was instantly ashamed for thinking like that. Rainer had been wonderful. ‘But he was totally different privately,’ she said. ‘He was so romantic. He wrote me poetry . . .’ Agnes’s eyes landed on Michael, who was leaning in the doorway and looking at her with his eyebrows raised.

  ‘Oh, how differently we paint things in our memories,’ he said and shook his head slightly. ‘But forget the brush, you’ve dunked him right into the paint can.’

  How could he say such a thing? Agnes glared at him through narrowed eyes.

  ‘I actually just wanted to see if the coffee was done.’ He held his hands up placatingly.

  Agnes was about to object to what Michael had said when she noticed Melli’s confused expression. ‘It’ll be a couple more minutes,’ she said. She poured some more hot water into the filter and watched Michael leave the kitchen. She would talk to him later. She didn’t want to start an argument in front of a guest.

  Agnes picked up the coffeepot. Melli followed her. As they stepped out onto the terrace, they heard Franz saying, ‘When she’s angry, it’s really cute. The other day, she threw a vase at me. Thank God it was empty, otherwise –’

  ‘Franz. That’s embarrassing,’ Melli interrupted him.

  ‘It’s not embarrassing. It was cute.’

  ‘I was angry. Franz was three hours late,’ Melli said to Agnes. ‘I was insanely worried. And then he comes home, happy as can be. Then I . . . Well, I guess I’ve had a bit of practice for the hen party,’ Melli said with a grin. ‘I’m just like that sometimes. Call it my dark side and let’s change the subject.’

  The conversation returned to motorcycles. Michael’s Harley desperately needed an overhaul. Franz wanted to take care of it. And they both wanted to take a weekend ride through the mountains.

  * * *

  Agnes looked at the sky as she turned onto the forest path. It had gone grey, but it didn’t look like it was going to rain. She wanted to finish her ten-kilometre run before it got dark. She’d chosen a route on the trail map and memorised it.

  The sound of church bells rang out across the lake as she found her pace. Franz and Melli would be at the prayer service now. As they were leaving, Melli had again invited Agnes to come along, but Agnes didn’t believe in God. It was all a question of faith. Believers and non-believers. Neither side had evidence. What could prayers do? Jakob’s fate was not in the hands of an all-powerful being. And if it was, that being was human. Or rather, inhuman.

  She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and concentrated on her breathing. The forest floor was soft, the air cool and damp; it smelled of the lake and wood. Agnes’s steps were light and easy. The path glided along beneath her. She had now lived in Mariaseeon for three days and had begun to feel at home more quickly than she’d expected. She’d finally been able to take charge of her own life again. She had let go of the reins and drifted for too long.

  But sometimes, just like earlier that afternoon at the lake, she didn’t know where to find the strength to cope with this new life. I have to focus on what I have, she thought, and not on what I’ve lost. But she couldn’t do it. Lines from the Nietzsche poem ran through her head again. Her mantra. The world – a gate to thousand deserts, mute and chill! Who lost his fate, as you have lost, stands nowhere still.

  I run away. I cycle away, she suddenly thought with frightening clarity. But from what? She didn’t want to think about it.

  The sun was now low in the sky and the close-set spruces were casting long shadows. Agnes hadn’t paid attention to where she was going and now realised that she was lost. As she considered whether she should just turn back, the path got wider and opened into a clearing. The oval-shaped space was covered with thick grass and there was a white chapel in the middle of it. Its bulbous spire stretched into the grey sky. This had to be the Chapel of Our Lady. Agnes found it on her trail map and felt better now that she had a landmark. She had gone further into the forest than she’d thought. If she ran back the way she’d come, she wouldn’t make it home before dark. But she remembered a shortcut, a path that was shown on the map as a thin black line. It led from the chapel across the forest and ended on the main road near her house. Agnes walked round the chapel and found the start of the path. Heavy tractor wheels had left deep ruts in the muddy ground, which had accumulated pools of brown water. She walked on the narrow ridge between the ruts. The tracks ended after a few metres, at a timber yard. There were piles of felled tree trunks and the ground had been churned up by various vehicles.

  Agnes stopped and looked for the spot where the path continued. It was barely half a metre wide. She was considering turning back when her eyes landed on a child’s trainer. It lay at the beginning of the path, half hidden by weeds. Agnes bent down and picked it up. It was red and blue, size thirteen, with Velcro fastenings. It matched the description in the paper: Jakob’s shoe. Blood rushed into her ears. She had to call the police. She reached into her trouser pocket. It was empty. Her mobile was still on the shelf in the hall. Brilliant. She pocketed the shoe and looked around. Was Jakob nearby? She didn’t dare call out to him. He might not be alone. Fear rose in her like a flame that spreads to everything within reach. She had to do something. Maybe, at that very moment, the boy was . . .

  ‘Jakob!’ she cried. And then again. ‘Jakob!’

  Silence.

  The chapel. Maybe he was in there. Agnes turned and sneaked up from behind. But what should she do if Jakob really was there? The windows were barred. She peered through one. It was gloomy inside. In the twilight, she could make out a small altar with a statue of Mary and some flowers, a few prayer benches, nothing else. But over there, in the semi-darkness, was a door to the vestry. Agnes circled the chapel but couldn’t find a window into the vestry. She quietly crept up to the chapel door, slowly turned the handle and then, when the door didn’t move, pushed her whole weight against it. Locked. She pressed an ear against the old wood and listened but could only hear her own breathing. If Jakob was being held prisoner in there, she had to get help as quickly as possible. She was a good runner. If she took the shortcut, she could make it to the village in fifteen minutes.

  Agnes started running. Twilight shone through the trees and robbed the forest of colour. The trees and ferns, moss and bushes all took on a grey tint. The dead grey sky seemed to seep into the woods, blending with the earthy grey of the vegetation and forming a viscous mass that forced its way into every opening and sucked out all the oxygen. Panting, Agnes stopped again after another hundred metres. Her heart was racing, she could hardly breathe. She closed her eyes and tried to suppress the rising panic that had attacked her from behind, tried to force it back into the catacombs of her subconscious. She couldn’t have a panic attack now. Breaking waves roared in her ears, her fingertips began to tingle. She would soon be caught in a tidal wave. A whimper came through the waves. ‘I want my mummy.’

  * * *

  Dühnfort flipped the file shut, stood up and went to the window. Since the morning, he’d been trawling through transcripts and reports without finding what he was looking for: some sort of clue that would enable him to steer the investigation in a particular direction. Jakob had been missing for over seventy-two hours. Statistically speaking, that meant there was a high probability he was dead. A feeling of hopelessness came over Dühnfor
t. He needed fresh air and opened the window. A group of tourists flowed out of the cathedral. The clock struck six and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Going home didn’t seem like an option. He would feel as if he’d let Jakob down, possibly sealing his fate with inaction.

  He sat down again and consulted Alois and Gina’s reports on their interviews with Jakob’s relatives. These hadn’t revealed any suspects. However, they had investigated one of Jakob’s aunts. She was a surgical nurse and married to a pharmaceutical rep. Both had access to drugs. But both had an alibi.

  Dühnfort continued flipping through and lingered on a passage about Gabi Sonnberger’s brother Anselm. He was a historian and lived in a converted barn on the Münch property. On the day of the kidnapping, he had been working on a manuscript.

  Dühnfort dialled Gina’s number. She was off that day but answered immediately. In the background, he heard voices and then a dog barking. He apologised for disturbing her on her day off. It was just an empty phrase. He would have got her out of bed at 2 a.m. if necessary.

  ‘No problem,’ Gina said. ‘I couldn’t stand sitting around so I drove out to meet Bichler in the woods anyway. I’m helping with the search. Is there anything new?’

  ‘No. I’ve looked through your reports. Jakob’s uncle lives in a barn. How come? What about the farmhouse?’

  ‘It’s going to be turned into a museum of local history,’ Gina said. ‘He won’t have to do much work on it – it’s pre-war in there. Wood-burner heating system, coal-fired range in the kitchen, no machines or appliances to help with the housework or on the farm. But don’t worry, it’s not like he sleeps on hay bales. He had the barn converted. It’s a nice, proper flat.’

  ‘What if the boy is in the farmhouse . . .’

  ‘He searched it on Thursday and showed me into every room yesterday. Nothing, nichts, nada,’ Gina said.

  ‘And Münch isn’t married, has no life partner?’

  ‘No. He lives alone with two thousand books, at a rough guess. He seems to spend more time in the past than the present.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s a historian and preoccupied with people that are long dead. He gave me a lecture about a Resistance fighter in the Third Reich that I’d never heard of: Josef Zott. He wrote a book about him. But I’m sure that if I’d asked him about Brad Pitt or Madonna, he’d have had no idea.’

  In the background, Dühnfort heard a dog barking again and then voices. ‘What’s going on there, Gina?’

  ‘Just a fox,’ she said. ‘One of the dogs tracked a dead fox.’

  Dühnfort couldn’t stay in the office any longer. He got off the phone with Gina and reached for his car keys. He had to do something and decided to drive to Mariaseeon.

  He listened to the radio on the drive there. The weather report came on after the news. A storm was moving in. A warning had been issued for the lake areas. Dühnfort looked up at the cloudless blue sky. By the time he reached the village, the weather had already changed. Mariaseeon seemed deserted under an ash-grey sky that captured the heavy air beneath it as if it were an umbrella.

  Dühnfort parked the car in the village square. There was no one around and everything was eerily quiet; even the birds had gone silent. A terrifying silence. Dühnfort walked down the street that led to the climbing tree and stopped at the Münch property. Jakob must have passed his uncle’s land on the way. The house was uninhabited and looked it. Dusty windowpanes, empty flower boxes, faded wooden balconies, flaking paint on the shutters.

  The silence that blanketed the village was abruptly broken. The church bells began to ring. The first sharp clang was followed by three more and then a second bell joined in. Within the next minute, doors and gates started opening. People of all ages marched out onto the street in their Sunday best and began walking towards the church, summoned by the bells.

  There was also movement on the Münch property. A man walked across the old farmyard, opened the gate, stepped out and locked it behind him. He seemed not to notice Dühnfort, who was standing just two metres away from him.

  ‘Mr Münch?’

  ‘No interviews,’ Münch said. The church bells fell silent.

  ‘The name’s Dühnfort. I’m leading the search for your nephew.’

  Münch turned round. ‘Oh, excuse me. I didn’t know.’ His face was pale. ‘I’m going to the prayer service for Jakob. Would you like to accompany me?’

  Dühnfort hadn’t heard about the service. He was surprised, but also not. Of course, it was obvious that the people of Mariaseeon would want to pray for Jakob. He nodded and began walking towards the church with Münch.

  ‘My colleague told me that you’re an author.’

  Jakob’s uncle looked him over. His eyes were just as blue as his sister’s. ‘Perhaps you think I write novels. Well, I have to disappoint you. Entertainment. Distractions. What good are they? They take time away from more important things.’

  ‘So, you write reference books?’ Dühnfort said.

  Münch nodded. ‘At the moment, I’m working on a book about Mariaseeon. The history of the village.’

  Dühnfort wondered how old this man was. In his early forties perhaps, but his dark hair was peppered with thick white strands. His attire was neat but old-fashioned. ‘Excuse my curiosity, but why do you live in the converted barn?’

  Münch’s head twitched slightly, as if he wanted to shake it. ‘A fight with my father. Thirty years ago. I’ve lived there ever since. It’s enough for me. I don’t need much.’

  ‘But with the money you made from selling the land, you could easily have afforded something else.’

  ‘I was able to study and earn my doctorate. That was my dream. It made that possible,’ Münch said. ‘I don’t need more. I’m independent. I can devote myself to the things that interest me.’

  ‘You generously divided up the money, even though you were under no obligation to do so,’ Dühnfort said.

  ‘What would I have done with it all myself? My mother worked herself to the bone. It brought no comfort. Most of the farmwork was done manually. We were poor. Now she can afford what she wants. She has a great house.’

  ‘Have there ever been any disputes about the money?’ Dühnfort asked.

  ‘No.’ Münch stopped. ‘Gabi was paid her part of the inheritance and I got the farm. It’s very common with farmers. When I sold the land, I split it. Why should there have been a dispute?’

  ‘No one felt hard done by or overlooked?’

  Münch shook his head. It was strange that the family took so little interest in the money. Gabi Sonnberger had an agreement with her husband not to touch it. Anselm Münch lived modestly. But maybe true luxury wasn’t about consumption. Maybe it was about having time for yourself, for the people and goals that were important to you.

  ‘And you were working there on Thursday afternoon when Jakob was kidnapped?’

  Münch confirmed this and continued towards the church.

  Dühnfort followed him. ‘You didn’t see your nephew walking this way?’

  ‘No. That would have been impossible. My office only has windows onto the garden.’ Münch stopped again and turned to Dühnfort. ‘I am not good at expressing my feelings. That’s how I was brought up and it’s not an easy habit to shake. But I am suffering with my sister. If only there was something I could do . . .’ His eyes drifted to the church and he started walking again.

  ‘When did you last see Jakob?’

  ‘On Sunday we had lunch together. Gabi thinks I can’t cook, so she often invites me over to eat. That way, at least I get a nice meal from time to time.’

  They reached the square. It had been deserted just fifteen minutes ago and now people were flocking to the church from all directions. Dühnfort was stunned. He hadn’t given it a single thought, but in the back of his mind he’d imagined that only a couple of old ladies and Jakob’s family would go to the service. But all of Mariaseeon seemed to be there. In front of the steps that led t
o the churchyard, reporters and camera crews had set up and were recording the villagers’ arrival. Anselm Münch stopped. ‘Look at that,’ he said.

  * * *

  Agnes stood frozen in the woods and gasped for air. Her child had called for her, but she wasn’t there. She had left Yvonne alone.

  It whimpered again: ‘I want my mummy.’ That wasn’t Yvonne. It was a boy’s voice. Jakob. This realisation jolted her out of the panic attack with one stroke, just as the police officer’s slap had done in her living room.

  ‘Jakob. Is that you?’ The whimpering went silent. Agnes listened, but there was no sound. ‘Jakob?’ Not even a breath of wind stirred at that moment, as the humid air lay like a damp cloth over everything. Sweat ran out of every one of Agnes’s pores.

  ‘Are you nice?’ The boy’s voice was soft and hesitant. It came from the bushes on the other side of the path.

  Relieved, Agnes exhaled. ‘Yes, I’m nice. I’m also a mummy and I’ll take you back to your mummy now.’ She went up to the bush. ‘Can you see me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  When Agnes tried to peer through the thicket she could see nothing but a tangle of twigs and dried branches. The small spruces were too dense and lacked sufficient light and water. Many had died.

  ‘Can you come to me?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t.’ The voice sounded weak. Jakob began to sob. ‘He tied me down tight.’

  Agnes looked for an opening and found a way through. She got down on her knees and crawled through the thicket.

  ‘I’m on my way. I’ll be with you soon.’

  Her hair-tie came loose and strands of hair got caught in the branches. She pulled them free, tied her hair into a low knot and stuffed it in the neckline of her jumper. The sky had grown darker, leaden clouds hung like giant pillows above the treetops and stifled every sound. A dry branch broke with a loud crack under Agnes’s knees.

  A small clearing appeared in front of her. There was a pile of brushwood in the middle. Jakob was sitting on top of it, naked. The image reminded Agnes of something, but she couldn’t think what.