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

by Inge Löhnig

  I took the liberty of sending you a small gift on the occasion of our anniversary and hope that you take as much pleasure as I always have from Robert Mitchum’s song ‘From a Logical Point of View’.

  In any case, I am happy that the time for mourning is now slowly moving into the past. I have enquired about how long this process will take – I’m sure you remember my inability to leave anything to chance and how I like to carefully plan every detail – which is why I know that it is now getting easier for you to visit our grave and that you are slowly getting your life back and looking to the future. Am I right? Wonderful. I’m sincerely happy to hear it. Perhaps you’ve bought a new sofa. It’s got to be red, you always wanted a red sofa. Now, lean back, my love, relax and read my words. They will give your life a new twist.

  How did you find out? Did the police come to Werner and Kathrin’s house in the middle of the night and get them out of bed? It must have been devastating. You lost what you held most dear, and what I held most dear, too: our child. You destroyed her future, just as you destroyed our family. You cannot have believed for a second that I would leave Yvonne to the same fate that I had as a child. You knew that I would spare her from this fate worse than death, and that is what I have done. Now, don’t put down the letter. You are curious. You want to know how. Read on, my love.

  It was quite simple. It just took a bit of basic knowledge about electrics and physics. If everything went according to plan – and I have no doubt it did – then the entire penthouse was burned to a cinder. You should have nothing left. I won’t bother explaining the details. A capable fire investigator will have already explained to you how the fire started.

  Yes, I can see the question that’s filling your head like a mountain of black clouds. Do you really think me capable of that? I loved Yvonne, more than you can ever imagine. Certainly more than you did, or else you wouldn’t have done it. I wanted to give her everything, especially a happy childhood, which you stole from her with your unbridled ego. No: I did not let her perish in the fire. I gave her a sleeping pill and then gently sent her on her way to a better world. I smothered her with a pillow.

  I know what you’re thinking.

  Yes, that’s the big question. Why didn’t I take you with us? Think about it for a moment, then you’ll understand.

  Right. What punishment could be worse than to have to live with the knowledge that you are responsible for the death of your child? So responsible, it’s as if you’d done it with your own hands. You did this.

  And I needed to make you come to this realisation when things were already going better for you, when you could really understand the weight of this guilt, when you were no longer lost in the pain of mourning. That is why – before joining Yvonne on our journey – I wrote this letter and left it with a notary with the request that it be delivered on our anniversary. I gave them your parents’ address so that they could request your new address.

  You destroyed us. You are to blame. Don’t forget that. I wish you a long life and may you spend every day of it with the knowledge that you are responsible for the death of your child, my love.

  Dühnfort put down the letter. Agnes sat next to him, crying. He gave her a tissue and put his arm round her shoulders. It was disgraceful. Of course, he had already dealt with killing sprees and men murdering their whole families. Separation, custody disputes and financial problems were the usual motives. But Dühnfort had never had a case where the perpetrator killed himself and the child but let the wife live so that she would pay for it.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. He could feel her shoulders jerking up and down. ‘Don’t take this to heart.’ Again and again he was shocked by how readily women blamed themselves and allowed themselves to be made the scapegoat.

  ‘I should have known. If I hadn’t been thinking only of myself, then . . .’

  Dühnfort had got the impression that Agnes missed her husband, that they’d had a happy marriage, but the letter suggested something else. ‘Were you planning to leave him?’

  Agnes nodded and then told him about her interview at the advertising agency and how her husband had beaten her up because of it. ‘We had agreed that I could go back to work when Yvonne was in school. But suddenly he didn’t want to hear about that any more. I just didn’t take him seriously and applied anyway. I never thought . . . My God, Yvonne could still be alive if I . . .’

  ‘He did it. Not you,’ Dühnfort said. He pulled her towards him. Her head lay on his chest, his chin rested on her short hair. It was prickly. Why had she done that? He ran his hand over it. Agnes cried. Dühnfort thought of the priest’s words. When is love truly selfless?

  ‘He was taking revenge, Agnes, and was extremely devious about it. The way he planned it all – my God.’ He wiped her tears away with his thumb. ‘Your husband wanted to stop you from ever being happy again and then push the responsibility on to you. Don’t let it in, or it will destroy you.’

  ‘He never said anything. Of course, I realised that he was hurt and sad . . .’

  ‘He hurt you. He abused you. He killed your child. He not only planned and went through with it, he actually went much further. He wanted to destroy you.’

  Agnes stopped crying, but Dühnfort could feel that her breathing was shallow and choppy.

  ‘How could he do it? He loved her,’ she said softly.

  I don’t know if he did really love her. Fathers who kill their children want to own them forever, Dühnfort thought. That has nothing to do with love. But he couldn’t say that to Agnes. Not right then.

  A heavy silence filled the room. Dühnfort carefully rubbed Agnes’s back, felt the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of the dress, felt the silk lining slide over her skin. He rested his cheek on the stubble. He would have liked to kiss her. She was confused and hurt and drunk. He pulled his arm away.

  * * *

  She wanted to keep feeling that arm round her. The urge to let go was almost overpowering. To be weak, to be rescued, to forget everything. But he pulled his arm away. She looked up at him. His grey-green eyes were full of the warmth that she longed for, but there was also a flash of desire for a fraction of a second. She ignored her misgivings and kissed him on the lips. He hesitated a moment and then returned the kiss. It was slow and deliberate at first, as if he had not kissed in a long time, and then it grew passionate.

  She hadn’t been touched for over a year. Long-forgotten feelings were given a new lease of life. She felt a growing desire that she hadn’t experienced in a long time. His lips broke away from hers and wandered across her neck. Her body reacted more intensely than ever. She just wanted to forget, wanted to sink into him, banish all pain, all betrayal, all guilt. She wanted to break free. She wanted to feel like a woman that was coveted, she wanted to take revenge on Rainer, to prove to him that . . . I’m easy, Tino, and I’m using you. Forgive me, she thought and put her hands under his shirt.

  ‘Do you really want this?’ he whispered. Instead of answering, she sat on his lap and he heard a soft moan. His hand wandered across her back and undid the zip. He pulled the dress up over her head. She bent over him, searching for his lips again. As her skin tingled, she feverishly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off him. ‘One moment,’ he said. ‘We should draw the curtains.’

  Sunday, 15th June

  Dühnfort awoke shortly after seven. He got up quietly, so as not to wake Agnes, and went to the window. It was open a crack. He pushed it wide and was hit with a blast of cool, damp air. It must have rained during the night. Water dripped from the leaves of the copper beech onto the windowsill. The wet grass shimmered and the lilac blossoms bowed, heavy with moisture. The sky was a soft grey that would slowly dissipate with the rising sun until it had completely disappeared. Dühnfort anticipated a beautiful early summer day. He felt conflicting emotions. On the one hand, he was happy and . . . he didn’t know what to call the feeling. Satisfied? After two years of celibacy, he had almost forgotten what te
nderness felt like and now he was cheerful and fulfilled. But he didn’t know how Agnes would take it. He had the vague feeling that he’d used her. Sure, she’d taken the initiative, but he’d been suspicious of her motives and still hadn’t stopped her. He looked round. Agnes was sleeping. She lay on her back and had the covers pulled way up over her shoulders, so that her bare legs stuck out at the bottom. Her face looked tense, as if the letter had crept into her sleep and consumed her with its slow-working poison. I won’t allow it, Dühnfort thought.

  He wanted coffee. His clothes were still downstairs in the living room. He quietly went down and collected them. Then he turned on the coffee maker and went to take a shower. Once he was clean and dressed, he set the kitchen table for breakfast. As he was searching the fridge for bread, the door opened. He spun round like a burglar caught in the act.

  ‘Mornin’, Dühnfort,’ she said.

  It stung. It sounded so distant.

  ‘Do you always get up so early? Even at weekends?’ she asked. He nodded and suddenly had a lump in his throat. She was wearing a light blue bathrobe, her feet were bare and her chopped-off hair was sticking out in all directions. She suddenly reminded him of a pixie. She walked towards him and stopped in front of him. ‘Mornin’, Dühnfort,’ she said again, and stood on her toes and gave him a kiss. He pulled her close, relieved and happy. Her lips parted, his tongue found hers. Her body was still warm with sleep. The mobile in his pocket rang.

  * * *

  Anna Nötzel’s body had been cold for hours. It lay naked at the top of the church steps. The wet hair stuck to the white face in strands. The dark eyes were open and stared in astonishment at the grey sky, as if she couldn’t believe what had happened.

  A raindrop dripped from the gutter, fell on her chin and then ran down the side of her neck. Her body was covered in cuts and bruises that had turned green. Below the left breast was an almond-shaped wound. Exactly the same as with Melanie Lechner.

  He didn’t wash his victim this time, Dühnfort thought as he crouched down in front of the body. The overnight rain had loosened the dried blood and spread it in red streams over the body and into dark red puddles on the granite steps.

  Father Schops had found Anna Nötzel when he went to prepare for morning prayers. He had called Dühnfort and waited for him to arrive, but then he went back home, declaring that he couldn’t bear the sight any longer. Dühnfort got his mobile out of his pocket and stood under the porch roof. He notified his team, forensics, the forensic medical examiner and Alexander Boos.

  He stoned her, he thought. In the Old Testament, that was a punishment for adultery. For men and women. But he’d punished Anna, not her lover. He was after women. Beatrice Mével was right: he was a woman hater. But I’m looking for a victim of the former priest who is now taking revenge. Why women and not men? Am I on the wrong track?

  Dühnfort stepped up to the body, bent down and turned it half on its side. There were bloody marks from a whip across its back. Dühnfort put the dead body back in its original position. Georg Veith and Oliver Drewitz had shown him the scars left on their backs from a cat-o’-nine-tails. Melanie Lechner and Anna Nötzel had both been whipped. It just can’t be a coincidence. We are on the right track, Dühnfort thought. The person doing this has himself been sadistically tortured, whipped and abused. But it was so long ago. Maybe Veith’s list was incomplete; maybe he’d left out an altar boy. Someone who’d maybe only lived in the village a short while, like Drewitz, and had been forgotten. Maybe there was a note of it in the parish records.

  Dühnfort was about to stand up again when his eyes landed on a small pendant that Anna Nötzel was wearing around her neck on a silver chain. The same angel as Melanie Lechner’s. Had all the young girls got that medallion for Confirmation? Possibly. But it was unlikely that they all still wore them as grown women. Dühnfort put on latex gloves, crouched down, opened the clasp and let the chain slide into his hand. Upon closer observation, he noticed that it wasn’t a half-relief of an angel but instead depicted the Virgin Mary. He turned the pendant over. Shit, he thought. Damn it.

  He got out his mobile and dialled Alois’s number. He was already on the Middle Ring Road. Dühnfort asked him to turn round and bring the necklace that they’d found on Melanie Lechner’s body. Then he called Gina and asked her to go to Melanie Lechner’s house and look for the chain there.

  ‘It’s still in evidence.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s hers. Anna Nötzel is wearing the same necklace.’

  ‘Are you in Mariaseeon?’ she asked, surprised. ‘Did you teleport over?’

  Gina was a good cop. She was accustomed to looking for connections and finding them. He knew she would make the connection. Even so, he said, ‘I was nearby.’

  Gina didn’t answer. He heard the car radio come on, then the beep that indicated that the traffic report was starting. ‘Oh,’ she said, eventually.

  * * *

  Twenty-five minutes later, Buchholz showed up with his team, followed by Dr Ursula Weidenbach, who was on call at the Department of Forensic Medicine that weekend.

  Dühnfort wasn’t needed at the scene for the time being, so he went to see the priest. He bumped into the housekeeper Barbara Schulz at the door. She lived opposite the church and had noticed the commotion. She’d decided to go to the priest’s house earlier than usual out of curiosity and fear. Dühnfort confirmed the housekeeper’s fears that Anna had been murdered.

  ‘Good Lord,’ she said and closed the door. ‘Who would do such a thing? It couldn’t be anyone from round here. It must be a madman.’ She accompanied him to the priest’s office and asked if she should make breakfast. The priest only wanted coffee. Dühnfort gratefully accepted his offer to have a cup with him. He’d had to leave Agnes’s before the coffee was ready. The thought of her momentarily put a smile on his face.

  Schops sat behind the desk and sucked on a cigarillo. The tip glowed red. He looked at the pendant, which was wrapped in a plastic bag, and exhaled the smoke. ‘Oh Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee.’ He translated the inscription that was engraved around the perimeter on the front. ‘This is a Miraculous Medal, as worn by many devotees of Mary.’

  ‘Have you ever seen a necklace like that on Melanie Lechner or Anna Nötzel?’ Dühnfort asked. He was getting a headache from caffeine withdrawal.

  The priest thought about this for a while. ‘No,’ he said. ‘The two of them rarely visited the church and were not very active members of the congregation, so I didn’t see them very often. But I think I would have noticed a necklace like that.’

  ‘Well,’ Dühnfort said, ‘there’s a Sacred Heart on the back, with another heart next to it. What’s the significance of that?’

  Schops turned over the pendant. ‘That’s the Immaculate Heart of Mary. The crown of flames and the dagger piercing the heart symbolise the suffering of the Mother of God.’

  ‘A dagger,’ Dühnfort said. ‘He killed both victims with a dagger. He put necklaces like this on both of them. Jakob drew an Immaculate Heart or a Sacred Heart. He must have seen this medallion somewhere. Who wears a pendant like this? Or is there another representation of these hearts somewhere?’

  Schops could only think of two old ladies who wore an Immaculate Heart medallion. There was no image of the two hearts in the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

  Dühnfort looked out of the window and let his eyes wander across the large garden full of fruit trees. The murderer had washed Melanie Lechner’s body, then dressed it nicely and placed a white lily in her hands. He had wanted his victim to look beautiful. So, he lied to himself about the true motives behind his crime, turning something brutal into something sublime. He carried a deep hatred inside him that drove him to torture and murder, but he thought he was saving souls. Why hadn’t he kept up appearances with Anna? Why hadn’t he completed his work? Something must have gone wrong; his plans must have been derailed. Something happened that compelled him t
o present his actions in all of their brutality.

  ‘Is there any record of who served as altar boys during your predecessor’s time?’ Dühnfort asked.

  Schops, who was also looking out of the window as he finished smoking his cigarillo, turned back to Dühnfort and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. That was more than twenty-eight years ago. When I took over the parish back then, the documents were incomplete and a total mess. It seems that was not my predecessor’s strong point.’ Schops put out the cigarillo in the ashtray.

  There was a knock. Mrs Schulz stuck her head round the door and asked if the gentlemen wanted to drink their coffee in the office or the dining room. She looked just as neat as she had on Dühnfort’s first visit. Pleated skirt, blouse and a floral apron with her white hair in tidy waves. She reminded Dühnfort of his grandmother, who had always been a symbol of reliability for him. Schops asked her to serve the coffee in the office.

  ‘Why do you want to know about the altar boys from back then?’ Schops asked.

  Dühnfort told him about Georg Veith, Sepp Meyer and Oliver Drewitz and how they had all been victims of his predecessor.

  Schops was shocked. He hadn’t known anything about that, not even rumours. Barbara Schulz came into the room with a tray.

  ‘I’ve spoken to all of them, to Veith, Drewitz . . .’ Dühnfort went through the names of the remaining men. Barbara Schulz’s hand trembled slightly as she placed the coffee cups on the table. ‘The only one I couldn’t speak to was Sepp Meyer, who killed himself years ago. There must be another altar boy who was tortured and abused by the priest. I have to find him. He is Jakob’s kidnapper and the one who murdered Melanie Lechner and Anna Nötzel.’