by Inge Löhnig
Jakob’s hands were tied with a colourful plastic rope to a massive stake that had been rammed deep into the earth. His eyes were the brightest blue Agnes had ever seen. Now they were wide open, just like his mouth. His chin trembled and tears ran down his face. ‘I want my mummy.’ Jakob’s sobbing grew more intense and now his whole body was shaking in addition to his chin. ‘I want my mummy.’ It was loud in the ghostly silence.
‘Sshh. Everything’s going to be all right now.’ Agnes crouched down in front of him, hugged him, pulled him towards her and wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘I’ll undo the knots and then take you to your mummy. I promise.’ Agnes’s fingers trembled as she began to untie him.
‘My Lulli is gone.’ Snot ran from Jakob’s nose. He sniffled. ‘I dropped him.’
‘Who tied you up here?’ Agnes asked.
‘The hot chocolate,’ Jakob whimpered.
‘The hot chocolate tied you up?’
‘I poured it into the crack.’
Agnes began to untie the last knot. ‘You poured hot chocolate into a crack? Why?’ She leaned closer to Jakob to get a better grip on the rope.
‘Then I always fell asleep. But I don’t want to sleep. I want my mummy.’
Agnes’s eyes landed on a blue petrol canister and a box of matches behind the pile of brushwood. Her legs gave way beneath her. Suddenly, she found herself back on her knees. She vomited up the strawberry cake in an uncontrollable eruption. Her stomach clenched again and she retched up bitter liquid. Drenched in sweat and shaking, she dropped onto the moss. An all-consuming weakness came over her. She wanted to stay there, not think about anything. She wished the ground were a swamp, so that she could sink into it until she disappeared. But she couldn’t stay there; she had to take Jakob to safety.
She picked herself up, untied the last knot and took the boy in her arms. He wrapped his arms around her neck and his legs around her hips. She felt the coolness of his body through her clothing, felt cold skin on her hands and warm tears running down her neck. She wanted to put the boy down, but he clung to her with the desperate strength of a drowning man.
‘I just want to put my jumper on you. Then you can hold onto me again,’ she said and put him on the ground. She slipped out of the jumper and pulled it over Jakob. It went all the way down to his ankles and the sleeves covered his hands entirely.
‘I’m a ghost,’ he said, raising his arms a little, then letting them drop back down. A small, crooked smile crept across his wet face. Agnes rolled up the sleeves.
‘Up,’ he said, reaching towards her. He clung to her as if he’d never let her go.
‘Well, now I’ll take you to your mummy. You can’t imagine how happy she’ll be to see you.’
‘And daddy, too.’
* * *
The service was coming to an end. The organist played the opening chord of the final hymn. A few bars later, the choir and congregation joined in. The sound of many voices filled the church. ‘Jesus Christ, My Sure Defence’. Dühnfort looked at the faithful. The church was probably only ever usually this full at Christmas. All these people had come to show solidarity with Jakob’s family and express their sympathy. Presumably they felt as helpless as he did and thought they might find some consolation here.
Dühnfort stood apart from the congregation, behind a wrought-iron railing that separated the nave from the porch. Above him was the gallery with the organ and choir, and to his right and left were the two entrances. Anselm Münch was sitting with Jakob’s family in the front row. Gabi Sonnberger had shot him a frosty look as she and her husband walked past him. A look that he’d found troubling.
He tried to concentrate on the hymn. Even death now cannot part, From its Lord the trusting heart. The words sent an icy chill through him. How could they have chosen such a piece? Apparently he was not the only one who found it inappropriate. A restlessness rippled through the congregation like a light wind across a field, setting the ears of wheat in motion until the entire field swayed. Some of the voices stopped, feet shuffled, whispers drowned out the singing, heads turned.
Suddenly, the side door opened. Cool air swept in. There were several bright camera flashes. Dühnfort leaned forward to try and see who was entering the church so close to the end of the service. With a gritty squeak, the door slammed shut. The music and singing tailed off. He recognised Agnes Gaudera. She was trying to fasten the heavy wooden crossbar across the door. A child clung to her. Jakob. A wave of relief flooded through Dühnfort. Someone knocked on the door from outside. The press, probably. How had she referred to them? Vultures, she’d said. She had now managed to bar the door. All at once, there was silence. Agnes Gaudera turned round and Dühnfort watched as the people cleared a passage for her.
Gabi Sonnberger and her husband pushed their way out of the pew and ran towards her. The two women met in the centre aisle. Jakob reached his arms out to his mother and she pulled him to her. Now he was clinging to her. Stunned, Dühnfort noticed that Beppo Sonnberger was crying. He hugged his wife and his son and wiped the tears away with his sleeve. Beppo Sonnberger was right, Dühnfort thought. Jakob was all right. An old woman, maybe Jakob’s grandmother, crossed herself, and Anselm Münch stroked his nephew’s hair. More and more people crowded forward.
Agnes Gaudera stood there on her own. Her arms hung at her sides, as if they had become useless. The jumper that Jakob was wearing must have been hers. She was wearing a sports bra and now wrapped her arms around her shoulders. She stood like that for a moment and then she walked down the aisle. The whole thing hadn’t lasted a minute and the church was still silent. It was as if everyone was afraid that the first sound would rupture the scene and make Jakob disappear again. Dühnfort observed how Agnes Gaudera walked directly towards the unlocked side door. He needed to speak to her and pushed his way through the crowd. At that moment, the door opened and the reporters rushed in. Cameras were in the air. Flashes lit up the church. Voices were heard. The spell was broken. Dühnfort looked over at Jakob’s family – the boy was still nestled in his mother’s arms – and then he made his way through the commotion.
One reporter grabbed Agnes Gaudera’s shoulder and spoke to her. Dühnfort heard the phrase ‘exclusive interview’ as he tried to catch her up. The remaining journalists pushed their way through towards Jakob. That was the real story, the one that would get copies off the shelves: the happily reunited family. Agnes Gaudera pried the hand from her shoulder. Dühnfort couldn’t hear what she said, but the expression on her face was clear. The reporter hurried over to his colleagues. Dühnfort collided with Anselm Münch, who had his sports jacket in his hand and was offering it to Agnes Gaudera. She pulled it on. It was much too big for her. With a feeble movement, she threw her skinny arms around her body. It looked as if she was afraid of falling apart.
‘Dear brothers and sisters, the Lord’s ways often seem mysterious to us. But in all of his actions, there is a deeper meaning, which may not be apparent to us.’ The priest had stepped up to the microphone and was trying to bring the congregation together. Agnes Gaudera turned round and left the church. Dühnfort struggled through the crowds after her.
* * *
She had no strength left, but she was still running. When had she started with all this? What was she running from?
It was already dark. The streetlamps were on. The heat from the day lingered between the houses. The sky was a leaden grey and a sulphur-yellow glow hovered over the lake. Lightning flashed in the distance, in front of the Alps. Agnes ran past the bakery, crossed the street at the chemist’s and turned down the road to her house. The priest’s words echoed in her head. She couldn’t bear it. What meaning could there be in capturing a child and wanting to burn him? What meaning was there in the death of her daughter and her husband?
She was cold and shivering. It was a paradox: the village was sweltering in tropical heat and yet her teeth were practically chattering. She pulled the jacket tighter around her. The man that had given it to her had intr
oduced himself as Jakob’s uncle. He had Jakob’s eyes. Ice blue like deep, glacial lakes. The jacket wasn’t warm, but it did have a very unique smell of reeds, hay and sour apples. It was a scent she remembered from her childhood and this instantly made her relax and drove away the cold.
She had already reached the lakeside road when she heard steps behind her. Without slowing her pace, she looked round. The police officer was straining to catch up.
‘My goodness, Ms Gaudera. Please stop,’ he gasped.
‘Or else you’ll shoot me for running? Or what?’
‘Or else I’ll collapse with a heart attack.’ He stopped, bent forward, supported himself with his hands on his knees and gasped for breath.
Agnes stopped and looked at him from a few metres away. ‘Out of shape. Don’t police officers have to train regularly?’
‘I need to talk to you. Or did you think you could deliver Jakob to his parents and I wouldn’t be interested?’
She didn’t want to let him into her house again. ‘We can schedule an appointment.’
He straightened up and looked at her silently. She knew that expression. Rainer had often looked at her like that. Soon he would yell at her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to destroy the photo. It was clumsy of me and I apologised. Are you still angry at me about that?’
He said it with his rascal smile. Agnes knew it wasn’t fair to stay angry with him. It was an accident.
A cool breeze made her shiver. It was immediately followed by an icy gust that blew the dry leaves up from the ground, then passed through the trees. A heavy raindrop splashed on her arm. Agnes looked up at the sky. It was sulphur yellow. The storm was directly above them. The next gust of wind rattled through the beech trees. She buttoned the jacket. Dühnfort also looked up. His brow furrowed. With the next gust, a tree creaked directly above where Agnes was standing. A dead branch crashed to the ground right beside her. The police officer grabbed her arm.
‘We need to get out of here.’
Her house wasn’t far. She ran ahead. The wind whipped through the trees, redirecting individual raindrops. Then all of a sudden it started pouring. Agnes’s clothes were soaked through within seconds. Water ran into her eyes and her hair stuck to her face in wet strands. The wind-driven rain was now mixed with hail. Hailstones hit Agnes on the head. They landed on cars at the edge of the road with a high-pitched ping, made dull sounds against the asphalt and deep clangs on the tiled roofs. The melody of the hail mingled with the sound of the rain and the howling of the wind, creating infernal storm music.
Agnes quickly unbuttoned the jacket again as she continued running and held it protectively over her head until she reached her property. The storm blew the garden gate out of her hand. It clattered against the bin sheds. She ran on until she was safely under the front porch and then she stopped, panting for air. Dühnfort was close behind her. They heard creaking from further down the street. An oak swayed, leaned to the side and collapsed diagonally across the road where they had just been. Lightning flashed across the sky, bathing the landscape in cold light for a fraction of a second. There was a metallic crash and the streetlamps went out, just before the thunder rolled across the lake. All of a sudden, it was pitch black.
Agnes dug into her trouser pocket for the house key and pulled out Jakob’s trainer, which was still in there. She handed it to Dühnfort. Then she unlocked the door. When she flipped the light switch, nothing happened. She groped her way into the kitchen. The jacket and her jogging trousers were cold and stuck to her skin. Her wet running shoes squeaked with each step. She got tea-lights and matches from the drawer while Dühnfort was still stumbling through the hall. She lit two and placed them in water glasses. In the dim glow of the flames, she saw Dühnfort leaning against the doorframe. Water was dripping from his hair and trousers onto the floor.
‘This is Jakob’s trainer. Where did you find it?’ he asked.
‘Near the Chapel of Our Lady.’ All in good time, she thought. Shivering, she went to the cupboard, took out a roll of freezer bags and tore one off. ‘Here, you can keep the evidence safe in this. Once I’ve thawed out, I can answer your questions.’
She handed him one of the tea-lights and went upstairs to the bedroom. Dühnfort followed her. Doorways seemed to be his preferred resting place. He was already leaning against another one.
‘Take this,’ she said, pulling a towel from the cupboard and handing it to him. She also found an old tracksuit that was too large for her. She’d bought it when she started running, over a year ago. She was twenty kilos heavier then. It would probably fit him. He was still standing there, leaning against the doorframe and watching her in the dim light. ‘The guest bathroom is next door. You can change in there.’
Agnes noticed the way he looked at her. He thanked her and disappeared into the next room.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Agnes and Dühnfort sat down in the living room. Now she was warm. She was wearing comfortable trousers, a fleecy shirt and thick socks. Her hair still felt damp. She had rubbed it dry as best she could. Long hair was impractical. When Rainer was still alive, Agnes had wanted to cut it, but he hadn’t wanted her to. And now she didn’t have the heart to do it.
The storm raged on outside. It had actually stopped hailing, but the rain and wind were blowing through the village, across the lake and through the woods at full force. There was still no electricity.
She’d told Dühnfort how she’d found Jakob and now he was making phone calls. The storm was forecast to continue through the night and wasn’t expected to ease off until the morning. A hurricane was raging through southern Bavaria. It had uprooted trees, making many roads impassable. It would not be possible to take the boy to Munich for an examination at the Department of Forensic Medicine. This was something Dühnfort was initially reluctant to accept. He first tried to get an ambulance, but the access roads for Mariaseeon and parts of the A8 and A99 motorways were blocked by fallen trees. There had already been two deaths. Then he tried organising a helicopter. Agnes couldn’t hear what the person on the other end of the line had said, but she could imagine. He’s gone mad had been her first thought. He didn’t seem to be rejoicing with Jakob and his parents. His main concern seemed to be securing evidence.
Dühnfort was now on the phone to Jakob’s mother. Apparently Jakob was still fast asleep in her arms.
‘No, Mrs Sonnberger, you don’t need to wake him. We will talk to him in the morning. I just have one request. Do not wash or bathe him. We need every bit of evidence and his physical state has to be documented.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘No, not his paediatrician. A forensic medical examiner has to do it. That’s the regulation. Of course, you or your husband can be there with him.’ Dühnfort ended the conversation and dialled another number. Now he was updating a colleague and asking her to contact the head of forensics. As soon as the weather permitted, they would need to explore the site where the boy was found. Then he put his mobile down on the coffee table and folded his hands behind his head.
The tea-lights were now on the table. He looked at her again. Agnes had a vague idea of what was going through his head. Rainer had been a prominent man in Munich. The disaster had supplied material for the newspapers for days and the name Gaudera was uncommon. He must know her story already.
‘Forget about it,’ she said.
‘What?’ His eyebrows went up.
‘I think I know what you’re thinking right now.’
‘Amazing.’
‘Want to bet?’
‘Sure, what with?’ he said and smiled.
She hadn’t expected him to take her literally. Agnes thought about it but had no idea what she could bet him. She shrugged.
‘I like to cook and some people even say that my cooking is edible. If I win, then I can cook something tasty for you, OK?’ A slight grin crept across his face.
‘Aren’t I supposed to get some sort of punishment if you win?’ Agnes replied. ‘S
omething that won’t be easy for me, that will cost me. Then again, I don’t know how well you can cook. But you’re going to lose anyway. So, it’s a deal.’ Only, Agnes couldn’t think of anything for Dühnfort to give her if he lost the bet.
‘If I lose, then you get one free wish,’ Dühnfort suggested.
Agnes liked this sort of blank cheque. ‘Good. Agreed. But you have to be honest.’
‘I’m a cop, how could I cheat?’ he said with a grin. ‘Well?’
‘You are wondering whether I kidnapped Jakob. A madwoman who hasn’t got over the loss of her own child gets herself a replacement, then regrets the evil deed and brings the kid back.’
The smile disappeared from his face.
‘And?’ she asked. ‘Have I won?’ She had actually meant it as a joke. Now she was worried that he might really believe she was capable of kidnapping a child.
‘I didn’t know I was so transparent. I did think that for a moment, but I don’t actually believe it.’
‘Too kind.’
‘It’s my job.’
‘To suspect everyone? To always be distrusting?’
‘In my job I have to consider all possibilities.’
‘So, you’re a good police officer. Right?’ Agnes asked.
He looked at her, stunned.
‘I mean, do you solve your cases?’
‘Most of them,’ he answered. ‘But of course, I don’t do it alone. We work as a team and get support from experts from different departments and organisations.’
‘Aha,’ Agnes said. ‘The human component must come from your colleagues. Jakob appears to be nothing but a stolen object to you. One that has to be looked at under the microscope as quickly as possible. Help, traces of evidence could be lost.’ She saw Dühnfort frown. She was immediately sorry. That was clearly below the belt.
‘It might seem cold-hearted to you,’ he said, ‘but a kidnapper is on the loose. We don’t know what his motives are. For all we know, he’s planning to strike again, and then another child will suffer, and other parents will go mad with fear, and we’re the bad guys who didn’t catch the criminal in time.’
