by Inge Löhnig
Gravel crunched under their feet. Agnes heard prayers being muttered ahead of them. The drizzle was getting heavier. Tiny droplets fell incessantly, landing on the clusters of lilac and hydrangea, covering the leaves with a shimmering film and washing the smell of grain and mown grass from the air.
The procession turned into an almost empty clearing. There were only a few graves to the left of the path that divided the field. Daisies and prunella bloomed in the grass. Franz’s grave was at the end of a short row. The pile of earth beside it was covered with artificial grass that glistened with moisture. The precise rectangular hole in the meadow gaped open like a door into another world. This world was an absurd two cubic metres big and would accommodate the coffin and be immediately refilled with soil. Then an entirely normal biological process would begin. In the end, Franz would become fertile soil. That was the only sort of resurrection that Agnes believed in.
At breakfast, she had drunk a whole pot of Spiritual Harmony. But she still felt unable to cope with what lay ahead. Michael seemed to have noticed her uneasiness. He held her hand. The procession stopped. The coffin was set down. In the scramble of mourners fanning out round the grave, Agnes and Michael found themselves right behind Melli. It made her uncomfortable. She was only a neighbour, this was not her place. But the crowd came to a standstill and Agnes couldn’t switch positions without attracting attention.
The members of the young men’s association sang a song. Agnes zoned out and instead recited Eichendorf’s ‘Moonlit Night’ in her head. It was as though the heavens Had silently kissed the earth, Such that in the blossoms’ lustre She was caught in dreams of them. She only vaguely took in what was going on in front of her. A speech from the captain of the fire brigade, then another song. The wind crossed through the fields, And swayed the heads of grain, The forest softly rustled, How starry was the night. Now the priest spoke and Agnes closed her ears, continuing to go through the poem. And my soul spread Far its wings, And sailed o’er the hushed lands, As if gliding home.
She hoped that Franz’s soul might find refuge somewhere, but she couldn’t believe it. Her passion for poetry stood in stark contrast to her belief in scientifically proven truths. She had never been able to choose the intangible over the tangible. Maybe it wasn’t faith that she lacked so much as the boundless trust it required. Or was it something simpler? Was faith blind trust? If so, then she wasn’t ready. But there was a side to her that wished she was.
* * *
He stood among them and enjoyed the ceremony, as he did every sort of ritual. They had a well-defined procedure, which gave him a sense of security. The bride wore black and that pleased him. She’d had the decency not to get married in virginal white, since she was certainly no longer a virgin. Sometimes retribution was swift.
During the prayers, he studied her stony face. The pain had drawn dark rings under the eyes and deep folds around the mouth of her marble countenance. Actually, he wasn’t interested in her. Still, he enjoyed the sight for a moment. Then he searched the crowd for the shiny brown hair. Shining and brown, like the coat of the cat that he’d killed long ago. It belonged to the hairdresser. It took a moment until he found what he was looking for. The slut was standing next to her husband, and her lover was standing behind her, as devilishly handsome as a satyr. But he wasn’t interested in him. He was also a victim. A victim of this infamous woman, this shameless adulterer. She took half a step backwards and he moved forwards a bit. Their bodies touched in the crowd and rubbed against each other. Disgusting. But her punishment had been devised, the procedure refined down to the last detail, written down and prepared. The details were stored in his head like an imaginary film. He couldn’t leave it and revisited it briefly as he mechanically recited the Lord’s Prayer. A quick mental image of what he would do. He was lost in anticipation as he noticed the beast getting aroused. The miserable worm that always made him lose control. He left the mental image. A bit more patience. Soon it would be time.
* * *
The priest finished the Lord’s Prayer and the village fell silent after a collective ‘Amen’ that sounded like a single sigh. Then he began another speech. ‘We think of the deceased and we think of death. In our fast-paced times, where we all live in the moment and suppress the knowledge of our mortality, it is good to accept death. Facing the death of Franz Lechner, we feel powerless and think of Jesus on the cross. He had the same questions as us. “My God, why have you forsaken me? Why must I die? Why this death, what is the reason?” In the end, he felt God’s power when he said, “Father, thy will be done!” So, there are reasons beyond all human understanding, even a reason behind the death of Franz Lechner.’
Agnes saw Melli’s head pop up. ‘A reason?’ she said. ‘This is meant to have a reason?’ She gestured to the hole in the ground. ‘I don’t understand . . . This can’t be sugar-coated. If there were a God, he would not allow such a thing. And if he did, he would be a capricious, judgemental, high-handed despot.’
Melli’s words spread unease amongst the mourners. Murmurs started up.
‘Dear Melanie,’ the priest said, ‘I understand your pain. Let’s talk about it later.’
Her father felt around in his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of sedatives. He wanted to give one to Melli, but she turned away and bumped into Agnes, who was standing behind her.
‘I want to get out of here,’ she said.
‘You can’t right now,’ Agnes said softly. ‘You can’t leave Franz here . . .’ She searched for the word. ‘. . . alone.’ Gently, Agnes took Melli by the shoulders and turned her towards the front. She didn’t resist but just let it happen. Agnes thought her words had been quite mild. She had only been physically present at Rainer and Yvonne’s funeral. The fear of falling apart in front of everyone had led to her swallowing three Valium. Melli had to get through it; she had to endure it too.
* * *
He couldn’t help but grin, so he looked down at the ground. That way the crowd would see his lowered head and folded hands. They wouldn’t see how much this disgraceful statement amused him.
But actually, he wanted to get himself in the mood for his new task. When he looked up, his eyes lingered on Agnes. She had pinned up her blond hair. It surrounded her like a halo. He felt hot. He straightened up. His heart began to race. He was sweating. Dr Wiessner looked over at him with concern. One of the altar boys watched him, furrowing his brow. Sweat ran down his back and soaked through his shirt. He folded his hands again. He pulled himself together. Agnes had shown him his mistake. She had taken the bitch in her arms and turned her towards him. And he understood what she was trying to say to him.
* * *
Dühnfort said goodbye to Leyenfels and hung up. At least he had approved surveillance and a telephone tap for Kallweit. Two hours earlier, he had been released from custody.
Dühnfort asked Gina and Alois to come to his office and told them how they should proceed. Alois seemed to be slowly acclimatising. He was still wearing a suit and shirt, but without a tie, and he’d left the jacket in his office. There was still no clue as to a possible hiding place. ‘We could enquire about caravan rentals,’ Alois suggested.
Dühnfort nodded. ‘Do it. Is there an itemised list of his phone calls yet?’ he asked Gina. He had requested this right after Kallweit’s arrest, but the request had got stuck in some sort of Bermuda Triangle.
‘It came in yesterday afternoon. I’ll check it right away. He definitely doesn’t have a mobile. He’s not registered anywhere.’ Gina was wearing a billowy skirt made out of a light fabric and understated make-up. Dühnfort suspected that there was a new man in her life. The phone on his desk rang. He went over and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello, Mr Dühnfort,’ Agnes Gaudera said. ‘I would like to show you something. Can you spare some time?’
‘Is it about Jakob?’
‘About a picture that he drew. I’ve been playing Miss Marple.’ She sounded embarrassed.
/> Dühnfort laughed. What a comparison.
‘Why are you laughing?’
‘You have about as much in common with Margaret Rutherford as I do with Arnold Schwarzenegger,’ he said.
‘True.’ Her tone made him think of her smile when she’d questioned his cooking skills. ‘I did a bit of detective work and came across something. I could explain it over the phone, but it’ll be more convincing if I show it to you.’
‘I can be at your house in half an hour.’
‘Take your time. I’ll be home all afternoon. I’ve got work to do.’
Dühnfort took his jacket off the hanger and said goodbye to Gina and Alois. There was heavy traffic on the motorway. Jakob’s teacher had photocopied pictures and drawings that Jakob had done and sent them to him, but Beatrice Mével hadn’t seen anything in them that might lead to revelations about the kidnapper. Jakob was processing his trauma by producing gloomy pictures. The pictures seemed tormented. No surprise that Agnes Gaudera was concerned.
The gravel crunched when he stopped his car in front of her house. He walked up the garden path to the door and rang the bell. He had skipped his afternoon coffee, as he was now beginning to notice. He yawned at the exact moment that the door opened.
‘Excuse me,’ he said.
‘Too little sleep,’ she said. ‘Haven’t we had this conversation already?’
Dühnfort thought about it. She was correct. ‘You’re right.’
‘How did it go from there, again? Oh yes, the cappuccino. The machine is still on. Would you like one?’
‘Please.’ Dühnfort followed her into the kitchen. He looked around while she fiddled with the espresso machine. In the bright sunlight, the room looked friendlier than it had on the stormy night when he’d sat in there with her. There was a colourful child’s drawing on the wall that hadn’t been there last time. A large red heart drawn in coloured pencil.
‘It’s about that picture,’ Agnes Gaudera said, putting the cappuccino on the table. ‘No sugar, right?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ Dühnfort said. ‘All of the other pictures by Jakob that I’ve seen so far are gloomy. This is finally a colourful one.’ But something about it made him uneasy.
‘I found it unsettling,’ she said.
‘Why?’
She looked at it. ‘These red, orange and yellow lines,’ she said, pointing to the picture, ‘remind me of flames. It looks like a heart on fire.’
‘Maybe he understood that the kidnapper intended to kill and burn him. As he doesn’t speak, this might be his way of saying that. Can you give me the picture to take away? I would like to show it to our psychologist.’
‘I’ll scan it for you and make a copy. The picture is a gift that I do not want to give up,’ she added. ‘You’ll probably laugh at me. But still. I was thinking about that pile of brushwood and why Jakob was tied to it naked. The image reminded me of an episode in the Old Testament. Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac. I can’t get the story out of my head.’
‘You think there is some religious background to this?’
‘It’s absurd, I know.’
‘I’m not particularly well versed in the Bible. Abraham was supposed to sacrifice his son, I remember that, but how does the story end?’
‘When Abraham shows that he’s willing to make the sacrifice out of blind faith, God sends a sacrificial lamb instead. It was a test of faith.’
‘And what is the connection to Jakob’s drawing?’
‘Come with me, I’ll show you.’
Dühnfort took his cup and followed her into her office. A desk stood below the window. There was a large table with several chairs in the middle of the room. Presumably for meetings. On the desk were several cardboard boxes full of documents and photographs. A few were out on the table.
‘Take a seat.’
He sat down and watched as she picked up a few sheets of paper from beside the computer.
‘The stake and pile of brushwood put the idea in my head that Jakob’s kidnapping was religiously motivated. But I thought that was probably really far-fetched. You had already arrested the former teacher. A few days ago, I asked myself why I found the picture of the heart so unsettling. Then I realised that it could be a symbol. And then I found this on the internet.’
She handed him a printout from a museum website. It was a short article about the symbolic representation of the three Christian virtues of faith, hope and love in art. It read: ‘Faith (fides): cross, chalice, flaming heart . . .’ A flaming heart as a symbol of faith.
‘And that’s not all.’ She handed him another sheet of paper. The Austrian Society for Religious Philosophy had an overview of a conference up on their website. A theologian from Tübingen had done a presentation on the subject: ‘A Broken Heart? Hearts in the History of Christian Theology and Piety and the Question of Gender Within Christendom’. In the summary of the presentation, Agnes Gaudera had underlined the term ‘Sacred Heart of Jesus’.
‘I knew that term from somewhere else. And I found a picture of it very quickly.’ She put a colour printout in front of him. It showed a stylised heart that was wounded and surrounded by a wreath of thorns. On top there was a cross surrounded by flames. The image was similar to Jakob’s drawing. But key features were missing.
Dühnfort put his hands on his neck, leaned back and closed his eyes. Something wanted to come to the surface. God, the Church, faith, piety. The Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The prayer service. At the place where Jakob was found, Alois had made a remark. Dühnfort tried to remember. He had said something about praying hands. Dühnfort got his mobile out of his pocket and called Alois.
‘Can you remember what you said when we were investigating the location where Jakob was found? We were discussing why the kidnapper might have left Jakob alone on a pile of brushwood. You made a remark about praying hands.’
‘Yes, hang on. It was about the prayer service. I think I said that Jakob’s kidnapper may have gone to the church and got off on the fact that he alone had the power to decide whether the boy lived or died. While the people in the church had their hands raised in prayer, he was already condemning him to the grave. Something like that. Why do you ask?’
‘Just a thought. I’ll explain later.’ Dühnfort hung up.
‘You don’t think my idea is completely absurd?’ Agnes Gaudera asked.
‘No,’ he replied thoughtfully. ‘There might be something in it. But we won’t get anywhere on intuition alone. Where to start?’ he said, more to himself than to Agnes.
‘Ask the priest. Maybe there’s a religious fanatic in the village. And I can keep researching on the internet. There has to be more about worshipping the Sacred Heart.’
‘You’ve established an interesting working hypothesis and now you also want to help. Welcome to the team.’ He grinned and leaned towards her. ‘Tino,’ he said and reached out to shake hands. ‘I’m less formal with my colleagues. But I don’t know if I can get you a permanent position. It will more likely just be freelance work.’
At first, she stared back at him in surprise. It looked like her mouth was already open ready to object, but then a smile came across her face. ‘Too bad the state can’t afford my hourly rate. I’ll do it on a volunteer basis.’
‘Joking aside,’ Dühnfort said, ‘of course I can’t have you doing our work. But we will investigate the idea.’
‘Actually, I was afraid I’d be laughed at,’ Agnes said and stood up. ‘I’ll scan the picture.’ She disappeared into the kitchen.
Dühnfort sat in the office, amazed. That was almost a flirtation.
Agnes returned with Jakob’s drawing. She had already taken the picture out of the frame in the kitchen. ‘It’ll take two minutes,’ she said and turned on the scanner. With a low hum, it was ready to operate.
Dühnfort looked around. The papers on the table were mostly old photographs and documents.
‘I’m designing a book about the history of the village,’ Agnes said. ‘Wri
tten by Jakob’s uncle. He’s a historian.’
‘He told me about it.’
She put the drawing in the scanner and started up the program. There was a muffled buzzing as the drawing was digitalised. A bit later, the flaming heart appeared on the monitor. ‘Do you want a printout, or should I just email you the picture?’
‘An email is enough. I can print it at headquarters.’ He looked at a photo of the Münch family from the sixties. Jakob’s grandmother was clearly recognisable. She had the same blue eyes and low forehead as her children. She hadn’t really changed, just grown old and white-haired. Beside her stood a slender, hunched man in a worn traditional German suit. Each parent held a child’s hand. Anselm held his mother’s hand. He looked about four years old and was wearing oily lederhosen and a threadbare shirt.
‘Can I have your email address?’
‘Of course.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card.
‘I have a request,’ he said, as he watched her send the email. ‘If Jakob draws more pictures, will you please email those to me, too?’
‘Sure thing, Detective Chief Inspector,’ she said with a smile. ‘Anything else?’
Now I’m slowly getting into a good mood, Dühnfort thought. ‘What about the bet? Don’t I owe you?’
‘I’d forgotten all about that. So, you should also get something out of it,’ she said and thought about it. ‘How about a bike ride?’
* * *
Ten minutes later, he parked in front of the priest’s house, which was next to the church in a large garden surrounded by a white wall. A tractor with a manure spreader turned onto the narrow road. It was Beppo Sonnberger. He greeted Dühnfort with a nod as he drove past, followed by the scent of manure. The door to the priest’s house stood open. Dühnfort followed the path through an overgrown orchard full of apple trees covered in countless white flowers. The last tulips had already begun to wither. The area was a thousand square metres. Dühnfort was surprised to find an uncultivated plot of land that size right in the middle of the village. He found a brass doorbell next to the front door. A woman in her seventies answered shortly after he rang. Her white hair was styled in orderly waves and a hint of pink lipstick emphasised the slight brownness in her complexion. She was wearing an apron over a pleated skirt and white blouse. He introduced himself and explained that he wanted to speak to the priest.
