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

by Inge Löhnig

  It didn’t sound good. ‘Agnes, where are you now?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t have my mobile on me. I had to cycle back to my house.’

  Thank God. ‘We’ll leave right away. We’ll be there in half an hour. Stay in your house.’

  ‘Where are we going now?’ Gina asked as Dühnfort put his mobile back in his pocket.

  ‘To Mariaseeon. Jakob’s teacher is missing.’ Dühnfort pulled a note out of his wallet and put it under his nearly full wine glass.

  ‘Who is Agnes?’

  ‘Agnes Gaudera.’

  ‘Oh.’ Gina grabbed her backpack, which was hanging on the arm of her chair.

  * * *

  They parked the cars a bit past the Chapel of Our Lady. Gina got boots and trousers out of her car and put them on. When she stepped out into the torchlight, she looked like her old self again. Then they followed Agnes to the spot where she’d found the ring. Dühnfort shone a torch across the ground and tree trunks. It actually was blood spatter on the marsh marigold, and he also found blood on the bark of a pine tree at around head height. There was some short blond hair stuck to it. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket, called Buchholz and told him where he and his men were to go. ‘We’ll meet at the Chapel of Our Lady.’ Then he organised a search party, which was to start by combing the area around the crime scene.

  Gina sat on a woodpile beside the path. ‘I’ll play watchdog until Buchholz gets here, OK?’

  Dühnfort thanked her, walked back to the chapel with Agnes and then drove her home. She sat silently in the passenger seat. Her face looked tense. She seemed to be deeply worried about the disappearance of her neighbour.

  ‘If you need a room tonight, you can use my office,’ she said out of nowhere.

  Dühnfort’s first instinct was to turn down the offer, but there was so little time, the location was good and the office was fully equipped with a meeting table, fax machine and computer.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But we might be quite noisy.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. I won’t really sleep anyway. Do you think that Melli . . .’

  ‘I believe in facts,’ Dühnfort said. ‘And the fact is that your neighbour isn’t at home. We don’t know if that is her blood and she could just as easily have lost the ring.’ He could hear the doubt in his own voice. He left Agnes and then drove back into the forest, where he waited for Buchholz and his team, then took them to the lake.

  By 10.30 p.m., the area between the boardwalk and the forest path resembled a film set. Buchholz had driven two generators all the way there in his VW bus. The paintwork was scratched and he’d got stuck twice on the short trip, but they now had light. Floodlights lit up the scene. Members of the team from forensics were dressed in white jumpsuits and were searching every square centimetre. A search party was getting ready to scour the surrounding area. It would probably be a hive of activity until dawn.

  Dühnfort told Gina where they would be camping out for the night.

  ‘She’s a witness in an on-going investigation,’ Gina said. He couldn’t help but notice that the expression in her chocolate eyes had darkened.

  ‘And? I have nothing going on with her, if that’s what you mean.’

  Gina shrugged. ‘If she’s involved in the case, it would be better if she didn’t know what we were doing.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘Me? You were the one who wanted me to check her alibi. But fine, you’re in charge of the investigation.’

  Dühnfort drove with Gina to Agnes’s house. She opened the door before Dühnfort had even rung the bell, then led them to the office. ‘Would anyone like a cappuccino?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure,’ Dühnfort said. Gina nodded and Agnes left the room. The sound of her footsteps disappeared down the hall.

  ‘Can you arrange to have the neighbours questioned?’ Dühnfort asked Gina, who was sitting at the conference table, which was stacked with slipcases full of Agnes’s documents. She nodded and got her mobile out of one of the many pockets in her cargo trousers.

  Dühnfort had decided to bring in Alexander Boos. He reached him during the interval at a concert at Schleissheim Palace, where his sister, a well-known harpist, was playing. He didn’t hesitate. ‘I’m already on my way.’

  Gina put her phone away. ‘Alois will be here in half an hour.’

  Agnes brought in two cappuccinos and placed one in front of Gina, who seemed not to notice, then handed the other to Dühnfort.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll clear this away, so you have more room.’ Agnes began to pack the photographs and documents that were spread across the table into boxes and pile them up next to the computer.

  ‘Alois is bringing twelve men with him. Then the whole scenario of ringing doorbells and dragging people out of bed will go faster. What about helicopters? Should I request them?’ Gina asked.

  Dühnfort nodded. Gina reached for her phone again. It was only three weeks ago that we were here and going through these same procedures: search party, helicopters, questioning the neighbourhood. Is it a coincidence? His phone rang. It was Buchholz.

  ‘I thought you would be interested in this. The same person who kidnapped Jakob also got the teacher. We’ve found a vial of midazolam. Undamaged. The kidnapper presumably lost it during the struggle. It’s on its way to the lab. But I can tell you this: there are no fingerprints on it. We’re having them look for DNA.’

  They ended the call. Dühnfort put his hands behind his neck and stared up at the ceiling.

  ‘What did Buchholz tell you, boss?’ Gina asked.

  That was back, the ‘boss’ at the end, Dühnfort noticed. He had the vague feeling that he’d missed something. ‘Melanie Lechner is in the hands of Jakob’s kidnapper. Buchholz found a vial of midazolam.’

  ‘What?’ Gina said. ‘It can’t be a coincidence. But what’s the connection?’

  Dühnfort removed his hands from his neck and sat up. ‘What is the unifying motive? Sexual abuse can surely be ruled out.’

  ‘Jakob’s teacher had a very childlike, almost boyish figure,’ Gina said.

  ‘But she is a woman. Though she did cause problems for Kallweit.’ Dühnfort dialled Kölle’s number and asked how Kallweit had spent the day.

  ‘It seems he wants to move house,’ Kölle reported. Kallweit had visited two flats in Munich that afternoon and had come back shortly before seven. He hadn’t left the house since.

  Gina supported her chin in her hand. ‘Maybe Melanie Lechner knows something about Jakob’s kidnapping –’

  ‘Certainly not,’ Agnes said, putting a pile of papers in a box. ‘She was very worried about Jakob. She was even planning to postpone her wedding if something had happened to him.’

  ‘We’re not insinuating complicity,’ Dühnfort said. ‘But maybe she knows something without being aware of its significance. Then she’d be a ticking time bomb for the kidnapper.’ Gina’s right. Agnes can’t be in here, he thought. It’s not appropriate for her to be aware of what we’re doing. He glanced over at Gina and caught a look that said the exact same thing.

  ‘Mrs Gaudera,’ Gina said, ‘you should leave the room now . . .’ Dühnfort did not like the high-handed tone. What was wrong with Gina?

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Agnes replied. ‘But I would like to say something else about Melli.’ She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Melli’s husband died recently in an accident. She’s taken it very hard . . .’

  ‘And? What does that have to do with the case?’ Gina rolled her eyes.

  Dühnfort raised his eyebrows, but she didn’t see him. Agnes seemed frustrated and now turned towards him.

  ‘Melli lashed out at the funeral. It was when the priest spoke about how there’s a reason for everything God does, including Franz’s death. She interrupted him and said that if God existed, he wouldn’t have allowed it to happen and if he had, then he was a jealous tyrant. So, if there really is a religious fanatic here among us, maybe Melli�
��s words gave him the motive to commit another crime.’

  * * *

  He sat in the middle of the circle of light and tried to block out all distractions, but he didn’t succeed. Melli had woken up. Her cries came through the walls, seeped into his solitude, crawled into his ear canals like worms eating their way into his brain. Instead of peace and serenity, he was vibrating with nervousness. It was maddening. The bitch!

  He closed his eyes again, took a deep breath in and let the air flow slowly out of his nose. Maybe he should have taken more time. But he hadn’t wanted to wait any longer. He had waited long enough and was eager to finally begin. I’ve wasted enough time with Jakob already, he thought and then felt ashamed. He crossed himself, crawled on his knees to the Madonna statue and kissed her feet. ‘Forgive me, Mother, for these unworthy thoughts.’ How could he doubt the task she’d given him? Maybe he was also being tested. A test of humility and patience. Well, he had passed. But everything was a mess again. Agnes had shown him where to begin: not with the adulteress and whore, but with the denier of God. That had required some replanning. Essentially, the procedure was the same, but the specifics of her purification would be different: the punishment had to match the crime. He had not only struck gold in the Bible, he had also unearthed some wonderful treasures in the punishments of the Holy Inquisition. He chuckled. They hadn’t seen the light of day yet; they had penetrated only this dark vault. But soon . . .

  The shouting stopped. He exhaled with relief. This creature just made things difficult. Like when she fought back! The memory filled him with rage. At first, she’d looked at him in surprise. ‘Goodness, you scared me,’ she said and only then did she realise that she had every reason to be scared. He reached for his weapon. The bitch dodged it. The sock filled with ball-bearings only grazed her. Dazed, she lurched to the side and tried to wrench it out of his fingers. The sock fell to the ground. With an iron grip, he grabbed the bitch by the hair and slammed her head against the tree. She fell to the ground. But the vial was gone. He looked and couldn’t find it. He’d lost any sense of calm.

  What would happen if they found the drug? He had been careful to wear gloves when he handled it. They wouldn’t be able to get anything from it. And he shall be like a tree planted by streams of water, that bringeth forth its fruit in its season, and whose leaf doth not wither; and in whatsoever he doeth he shall prosper. The knowledge of the protective hand guiding his actions calmed him. Calm, peace and serenity wrapped around him like a velvet coat. He surrendered himself to the feeling completely.

  A drawn-out cry penetrated the walls of the vault and tore him from his inner world. He shot up, pushed open the door, stormed down the passageway, pulled aside the latch and lunged into the cell. His heart was racing. He was trembling with rage.

  ‘How dare you! Let me out this instant!’ the bitch screamed. Her left hand was handcuffed to the chain, but her feet were free. She was standing beside the camp bed and walked towards him. He backed away enough that she couldn’t reach him. She reminded him of Toy, the way she hissed and tugged at her chains. Toy was another cat he’d had fun with. It had belonged to the bookshop owner.

  Suddenly, his anger subsided. What a senseless protest. She was at his mercy, his plaything. Yes, he would call her Toy from now on.

  ‘I will scream until someone hears me.’ But she wasn’t screaming any more, it was more of a whisper.

  He chuckled. ‘No one can here you, little Toy.’ His voice pleased him. It was deeper than usual and full of authority: the voice of the messenger. He wanted to hear more of it.

  ‘My name is Melli, you know that,’ she said. ‘Let me go. Please.’

  Cute.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone anything.’ She sat down and her begging, pleading expression pleased him. He shook his head.

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  He smiled again. ‘I don’t want anything bad,’ he said and watched as her face relaxed. ‘I want to save your soul,’ he continued and felt like he was rising above himself.

  ‘What?’ The fear trembled in her voice.

  ‘You have blasphemed and denied God. That is no way to believe in Jesus, who died on the cross for us. He died to save us. His wonderful mother endured this unspeakable suffering for our sake. And you deny it. You don’t accept salvation, so your soul is damned. Then the Virgin Mary will have suffered for nothing. That cannot be.’

  She stared at him as if he were crazy. Fear and confusion were visible on her face. But then she locked eyes with him. ‘What do you want? Shall I confess? Then you can let me go.’

  ‘Confess, repent and . . .’ He paused. ‘Atone.’ Every word filled him with anticipation.

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ his plaything whispered and slid back across the bed to the wall.

  Yes, now the kitty was slowly getting scared. Now, she understood what was coming. But her imagination couldn’t know the half of it. Her eyes drifted round the vault. She discovered the table. She saw the dagger, the hook and the chain and the hoist.

  ‘And then you’ll let me go?’

  The undertone of fear that resonated in her words excited him.

  He looked his kitty in the eyes and said nothing, watching as her fear grew. Every single cell inside him, the messenger, seemed to be aware of its power. His nerves vibrated with anticipation. But the hideous beast began to get aroused again. Why was it so difficult to tame this miserable worm? Intense desire and agonising shame merged within him.

  He had to concentrate. He needed peace now, or else the ceremony would not be successful. It was important that everything went according to plan. Just so he could . . . No! It was about something higher. I will save a soul, he thought. Save a soul? Not sully yourself? the inner voice whispered. Be careful where you put your hands, it sneered and then giggled, while the beast rose. I just need peace, peace, peace, he thought desperately.

  ‘Let me out of here,’ his plaything whispered.

  She should shut her mouth. He wanted to collect himself and not talk. She should sleep until it was time. He reached for the thermos standing next to the bed, unscrewed its cup and filled it with the mixture of hot chocolate and sleeping pills. He tried not to inhale the scent. He couldn’t bear it; it tormented him. What truly sweet pain.

  ‘Drink,’ he said.

  She stared at him from narrowed eyes, took the cup and dropped it. The hot chocolate poured onto the flagstones. His hand trembled as he picked up the cup and refilled it. He grabbed her neck and forced the cup against her mouth. With surprising strength, she prised his fingers off her and pushed the cup away with her free hand. It rolled across the floor again.

  ‘Fucking bitch.’ He slapped her across the face. She screamed. Her head flew to the side and the corner of her mouth split open. Blood oozed from the wound. He picked up the cup again and poured the rest of the hot chocolate into it. He took the dagger, held it against her throat and handed her the cup. ‘Drink!’

  Her eyes were full of hatred as she glared at him and drank. He put down the knife.

  ‘You know what?’ she blurted out. ‘Your God is neither all-powerful nor kind. Otherwise he wouldn’t let there be so much suffering. If he wants to stop it, why doesn’t he? Is he too weak?’ She looked at him in triumph. ‘If he could do it, why doesn’t he? Is your God jealous?’ Her face twisted into an ugly grimace. ‘Or perhaps he is neither able nor willing to stop the suffering. Then he’s not God. So, there is no God. Ergo, he didn’t have a son whose mother was a pregnant virgin.’

  He heard this wretched speech and his anger escalated steadily. She mocked everything. She was a heretic of the worst kind. He saw his hand tremble.

  ‘It makes me laugh,’ she said. ‘Immaculate conception . . .’

  ‘Shut up,’ he said with the calmness that always gripped him when his anger reached boiling point. Then it became like a band of red-hot steel about to be shot off the belt of a rolling mill towards an unknown target. He swung at her again. He
r head banged against the wall and she tipped over and fell onto the bed.

  There we go! He threw the knife on the table and pulled open a drawer. He went straight for a tube of superglue. Half a minute later, he’d glued her mouth shut. Damn beast! He slammed the door shut behind him, bolted it and leaned against the wall. His robe was stained. He had to take a shower and change. He was very hot. A wave of nausea swept over him. He’d screwed up. He’d glued her mouth shut.

  * * *

  Dühnfort leaned against a spruce and watched as Alexander Boos inspected the crime scene. It was just past midnight. The section of the forest was still lit by the bright glow of the floodlights and the generators roared. Buchholz’s team were turning over every leaf, taking plaster casts of the footprints and searching for blood and fibres with fluorescent lamps.

  Dühnfort heard footsteps behind him. He turned round. He saw the torch beam first, and then Alois. He greeted him.

  ‘We have a rough overview of what Melanie Lechner did in the afternoon. She went to Munich to see a psychotherapist. Then she got the train home and bumped into a woman from the village. That was around half past four. At six thirty, the baker’s son saw her. He was on his bike on his way to handball practice in Baierdilching and took a shortcut through the woods. He saw Mrs Lechner just before the fork up there.’ Alois pointed towards the track. ‘And a farmer saw a dark sports utility vehicle driving into the forest just before five. He said it could have been Münch.’

  ‘Have you looked into that?’

  Alois nodded. ‘He was replacing the shingles on the chapel that had been damaged by the storm. But he didn’t see Mrs Lechner. He did notice a light-coloured delivery van coming out of the nature reserve just before seven o’clock. The track is only meant to be used by agricultural and forestry traffic. He thought it was firewood thieves.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘That part of the forest belongs to him and he’d stored some timber further down the track. Since things often go missing, he went and checked. But nothing had been taken. We should be on the lookout for a light-coloured delivery van. Shortly after seven, it was seen speeding through the village. I have witnesses to that: a mother and her son who were coming from the football field.’