The Oath

by Klaus-Peter Wolf

  By now, Rupert had the attention of everyone in the queue and the cashier had even stopped scanning goods and was staring at him.

  Manni pointed to Rupert and chimed in. ‘That’s my friend, Rupert! Basically the boss of the police in East Frisia.’

  Rupert turned around to him. ‘Pipe down!’

  ‘Are you ordering me to be quiet?’ Agneta Meyerhoff asked.

  ‘No, I didn’t mean you. I’m not alone here.’

  ‘Unlike me. I’m completely alone! Always! And I’ve had enough of it.’

  If he wasn’t mistaken, there were tears mixed with her fury. Her voice cracked, and she tried to soften her tone. ‘I thought I meant something to you, but apparently you don’t care if I’m killed or not.’

  ‘Of course I don’t want the killer to get you, but there’s a time and a place—’

  ‘But you’re not working night and day. Come to my place when you finish and I’ll make you chicken soup. That’s good for colds.’

  ‘I don’t have a cold. I-I can’t come over tonight. I’m married, damn it, I sleep at home at night – normally.’

  ‘OK, then, I’ll just come to you. I don’t want to be alone tonight.’

  ‘To me?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. I accept your protection!’

  ‘I don’t know if my wife will think that’s such a good idea. She can really get jealous if—’

  ‘That wasn’t a serious suggestion, you idiot! I just wanted a response.’

  Manni poked Rupert. ‘Hey, if you guys have problems, I mean, if you need backup, protecting a hot chick or something – you can always count on me!’

  ‘Yeah,’ Rupert groaned, ‘I know.’

  ‘If I tell my husband you harassed me, he’ll break your nose!’

  ‘Harassed?’ Rupert asked.

  Rupert had already realised from her breathing that she wanted to hurt him. He was familiar with that reaction from women.

  ‘I’ve never slept with a man who was so microscopic!’ She yelled.

  Rupert regretted it but couldn’t help yelling back. ‘It’s not little!’

  Several people at the till looked away, embarrassed. Others grinned widely at Rupert.

  Manni patted Rupert on the shoulder and said, ‘Don’t put up with that, mate!’

  *

  Ann Kathrin Klaasen wanted to get her own impression of the situation in Achim and under no circumstances simply leave it to the local authorities. She didn’t want to immediately blow her cover, so she chose to take her ageing, green rattletrap hatchback. But it didn’t start right away when she wedged herself behind the wheel.

  She coaxed her car, emphasising how important it was to her and that she’d never sell or junk it. But she needed to get to Achim, urgently, and it shouldn’t be so stubborn.

  Weller stood next to the car, his arms resting on the roof, and listened to Ann Kathrin.

  ‘Some husbands would be pleased if their wives talked as tenderly to them as you do to your car,’ he grinned and suggested taking the hatchback to a garage and hiring a car to go to Achim.

  Ann Kathrin didn’t react to Weller. Instead she told her car, ‘He didn’t mean it. He’s just in a bad mood. Don’t take it personally.’

  ‘Ann, cars don’t take anything personally. Please, we still have the C4. You can have it. I’ll have Marion Wolters pick me up, and then—’

  Ann Kathrin continued talking to her hatchback. ‘Don’t worry, my sweetheart,’ she said and caressed the dashboard, ‘You’re not replaceable. Men think sometimes that if something isn’t right or someone gets a bit old it’s time to get a new—’

  Weller slammed his fist on the roof of the car. ‘No, damn it, I’m not like that!’

  ‘I’m not talking to you,’ Ann Kathrin told him.

  ‘I know. You’re talking to your car. Lord, if anyone hears us, Ann Kathrin, they’ll think both of us are completely crazy!’

  ‘You’re the one who thinks I’m crazy, Frank. But the only people here are our neighbours. I live here. They know me.’

  At that very moment the engine turned over.

  ‘You see,’ Ann Kathrin laughed, ‘maybe the word “garage” helped. My sweetheart doesn’t like that. You should understand. You don’t like going to the doctor either.’

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

  ‘Could I remind you of the colon cancer test that’s due?’

  Weller straightened up, looked into the blue East Frisian sky and grunted like a hungry gorilla.

  Ann Kathrin engaged the handbrake and climbed out to hug her Frank. She kissed the base of his neck and whispered. ‘You don’t have to worry, dear. Nothing will happen to me. I just want to get as close as possible.’

  ‘Sure. What could happen to you? Your sweetheart will surely watch over you,’ Weller said, sounding almost jealous. He had always had the old-fashioned idea that he had to protect his wife.

  Then she left and watched him in the rear-view mirror as she turned the corner. He waved and looked concerned.

  She turned on the radio and stopped at the North Sea Radio station because they were playing a song from the Fabulous 3, ‘Over the Sea’. Music from Ubbo Heide’s favourite bands could be heard more and more frequently on the radio.

  Ann Kathrin hummed along.

  ‘In the storm tighten your sails

  The waves smash in the gales

  Over the sea . . .’

  Ann Kathrin gradually left the station’s range. The radio started to crackle and pop. She switched to the next station. The news was still on there. A member of parliament who had downloaded child pornography from the Internet had been acquitted, but was to donate five thousand euros to a child protection association.

  Ann Kathrin angrily hit the steering wheel, but then immediately apologised to her car for the attack. ‘You can’t do anything about it, sweetheart,’ she said, ‘but things like that make me furious. That man was lucky that he’d only downloaded child porn. It would have been really expensive if he’d illegally streamed a Hollywood blockbuster! What is wrong with the justice system in our country? A punishment becomes a donation. The child protection association should probably be grateful now. What’s happening to the world? Has everyone gone crazy?’

  Then the music programme started. Ann Kathrin changed the channel. She finally ended up with Radio Lower Saxony. Saskia Faust was apparently a guest in the studio.

  Ann Kathrin turned up the volume.

  ‘My father had recorded all these conversations and sent them to me.’

  ‘Did your father suspect that he was going to be murdered? Is that why he sent you the tapes?’

  ‘No, I think he did it because he wanted to show me that he wasn’t necessarily loved for his work, he also had to overcome a lot of resistance. But he often sent me things like that when he was being attacked.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘My father was a very sensitive person, even if many people thought otherwise. He was very affected by things like that and needed his daughter’s support. Sometimes he lay in my arms, crying, and he often cried down the phone because he had to stay the night in another random hotel and—’

  ‘Can we listen to the tape?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Ann Kathrin pulled over to the side of the road. She wanted to concentrate on what she was about to hear.

  When she heard Rupert’s voice she knew it was going to be bad.

  ‘My wife always says that it only happens to me when the arsehole in front of me reminds me of the arsehole inside of me—’

  ‘Don’t be such a pussy! I’m apologising. Things like that don’t happen to me. Only when there’s an arrogant twit like you standing in front of me. Then I can slip out of my role and—’

  ‘That’s unbelievable,’ the presenter said, sounding truly incensed. ‘That’s the way the East Frisian police treats a famous journalist?’

  ‘Yes,’ Saskia Faust said, ‘and now my father’s dead. They have him on their c
onscience.’

  ‘Now we need to be clear, that’s just conjecture, after all, but—’

  Saskia Faust interrupted the presenter. ‘I’m not saying that the East Frisian police killed him. I’m just saying that the wrong people are investigating this case. They’re basically sympathising with the killer. He did the dirty work for them. My father collected material against that detective Ann Kathrin Klaasen. She’s a kind of icon in East Frisia. I don’t know what my father came across, but the public won’t ever find out now—’

  The presenter played some more music.

  Ann Kathrin stretched out on her seat as if she were in bed and had just woken from a nightmare. While doing so, she touched the roof with her hands.

  Her phone barked. It was like an alarm, a relief for her. She answered at once.

  It was Holger Bloem.

  ‘Ann! That Saskia Faust is live on the radio.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Ann Kathrin groaned.

  ‘It’s directed against you. They really twisted it around. Rupert insults her father and it’s your fault. I’m just calling to say that you can count on me. Regardless of what happens now. If you need someone to advise you on how to deal with the press, then—’ He backtracked immediately. ‘Not that you couldn’t do it yourself, but—’

  ‘What should I do, Holger? React or dodge?’

  ‘Those are the two exact possibilities I see. If you react immediately you’ll just escalate it. Sometimes it can be the right move to let a cold shower drip. I bet it won’t take long for them to start chasing their next idiot. Excuse my language. Alternatively, you start a counter-attack. For example, with a big interview in which you share what all this does to you and what it means to you. You have a lot of friends in East Frisia. People know you and value your work. More people will stick by you than you think. To many people, that Faust was just a scumbag—’

  ‘Thanks, Holger. I really appreciate it. I really don’t feel like a press conference or anything. We’ve got bigger fish to fry. I think everything will calm down as soon as we’ve caught the killer. If the police can’t produce a guilty party, then people like to blame us.’

  ‘I could do a feature on you for the East Frisia magazine, Ann. This country has plenty to thank you for. There’d still be a lot of criminals running around if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘No thanks, Holger. I don’t think even more publicity would be good for me right now. I have to concentrate on this case first. But it’s nice to know that people like you are on my side.’

  ‘Always, you can count on that. Loyalty isn’t a foreign concept for East Frisians.’

  ‘Thanks, Holger. Bye,’ Ann Kathrin said, and Holger Bloem added, ‘Keep your chin up, Ann!’

  Ann Kathrin walked twice round the car. It was good for her to feel the ground beneath her feet.

  Then her seal barked again. On the screen she saw that her son Eike wanted to talk to her. She was immediately touched. He’d probably heard the interview and wanted to comfort his mother. Even if they didn’t see each other very often, in the last few years she felt as if there was a kind of emotional connection between the two of them. For that reason alone it was good to receive the call.

  She greeted Eike pleasantly while doing a couple of knee bends in front of her green hatchback. A trucker drove past and honked, enjoying the view. She paid no attention.

  ‘Eike, nice of you to call. How are you?’

  ‘Mum, I messed up.’

  ‘She immediately forgot her anger and focused on her son. ‘What’s up?’

  He sounded upset. His voice was shaky. At first Ann Kathrin thought he might be having trouble with his girlfriend, the resident physician Rebekka Simon. She would have greatly regretted that because she liked the young lady. But then Eike burst out, ‘I’m such an idiot! I just didn’t pay attention to my bank account and let everything slide and now they want to cut off my electricity, and the bank has cancelled my credit card. I’m standing at the ATM. I just wanted to take out fifty euros but—’

  Ann Kathrin deduced. ‘It’s about money.’

  ‘Yeah, Mum.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘About two-and-a-half, at the most three thousand. Can you help me out? I’ll pay you back.’

  ‘Of course I can.’

  It was easy for her to help her son; it even felt good. She had enough savings, and her money was safe at the Credit Union in Aurich-Norden.

  ‘Should we go to the bank together and talk to them? I’ll sort it out and—’

  ‘Mum, can’t you just send me the money?’

  She smiled. ‘You think it’s embarrassing to talk to the people at the bank, right? If you’d done that sooner, maybe you wouldn’t be in this position. I can’t just transfer money, I’m out and about. I’m not at home.’

  ‘Don’t you do Internet banking?’

  ‘No, I still go up to the teller and fill out the transfer forms. I like it better that way. I don’t trust all that computer stuff.’

  ‘Oh, Mum, that can’t be true! What century are you living in?’

  ‘At least I have my account under control. A transfer wouldn’t even help you. The money just haemorrhages out of your account.’

  ‘But I need a little cash now, Mum.’

  She didn’t want to hear the excuses. ‘I could bring something over. I’m driving towards Bremen. I could—’

  ‘Oh, Mum, that’d be fantastic. Could we meet in Oldenburg, and you’ll bring me the money?’

  ‘Where should we meet, Eike? In a car park near the autobahn?’

  Eike laughed. ‘Yeah, that’s typical Mum. Money handover in a car park near the autobahn? You really are a detective!’

  She was in a hurry, but she wanted to clear some space for her son. ‘We could also grab something to eat and then—’

  ‘How much money do you have on you, Mum?’

  ‘Who knows? I have to look. I’d guess a hundred, maybe a hundred and twenty euros.’

  ‘Mum, this is really embarrassing, but that’s not enough. I need at least three hundred in cash. Three hundred and fifty would be ideal.’

  ‘Then let’s meet in front of a bank. I have to withdraw some money anyway. At the branch on Alexanderstrasse?’

  ‘Fabulous, Mum! I’ll be there in a half hour.’

  ‘She looked at her watch. ‘I might need a little longer.’

  ‘No problem, Mum. I’ll wait there. I love you; I’m sending you a kiss, you’re the best!’

  She wanted to thank him for the kiss, but Eike had already hung up.

  *

  Rupert drove his car into the garage, unloaded the case of beer and hid the bottle of whisky under his jacket as he walked towards the front door – he knew Beate was monitoring his alcohol consumption critically.

  Inside it smelled of incense sticks, which immediately made Rupert’s throat itch. He thought that stuff was worse than any cigarette smoke and he hoped that burning of incense sticks in shops and living rooms would be banned, like smoking in bars.

  And then she was standing in front of him, in a flattering, strawberry-hued dress made of some kind of fabric that was, he assumed, woven by virgins next to a bonfire at full moon while they recited poems.

  Beate had advanced to the level of reiki master, and was drenched in light. As a matter of principle, Rupert dealt with all of this by not letting it get to him. But something about her face was off. She wasn’t as relaxed as usual. Her left cheek twitched and her lips were very thin. And then his well-mannered wife gave him a resounding slap.

  Rupert stood very calmly. He felt his cheek. He couldn’t believe it. Had she really just smacked him?

  He pulled the bottle of whisky out of his jacket. He would have liked nothing more than to unscrew the lid and take a sip immediately.

  ‘How dare you talk rubbish about me?’

  ‘What? I didn’t say anything about you! Why would I? You think I run around the police station letting everyone in on what you and your witchy girlfrie
nds get up to?’

  Shit, Rupert thought, Agneta Meyerhoff was here. The stupid bitch was taking revenge, telling Beate some rubbish.

  He’d cheated on his wife frequently, and this wasn’t the first time that she’d found out. But he’d never seen her so angry.

  She pulled back to hit him again. He ducked.

  ‘I heard it on the radio! How could you say something like that? I never said that it only happens when the arsehole in front of you reminds you of the arsehole inside you. What I told you was from a continuing education seminar for nursery school teachers that I completed in Delmenhorst a couple of years ago: ‘When the child in front of you reminds you of the child in you.’ It was all about how teachers sometimes can’t handle a situation with a child because it reminds them of traumas from their own childhood. How could you use it in this way?’

  Rupert didn’t understand. ‘You heard what on the radio? I don’t give radio interviews. I—’

  Then he saw Saskia Faust in front of him in the police station, holding up the Dictaphone.

  ‘Oh, fuck,’ he said, ‘has she really done it?’ And he collapsed. He sat on the stairs, the bottle of whisky loosely between his knees, his head hung low, and his face was like that of a beaten child.

  And Beate immediately touched him again. For some reason she loved Rupert. She didn’t know why. She had explained to her girlfriends that it must be an old, karmic relationship. Perhaps the two of them knew each other in another life. Perhaps he’d helped her out of a fix and now she still felt indebted to him. Perhaps they had been comrades in arms. Yes, she could easily picture Rupert as a knight in shining armour.

  She placed her left hand on his neck and stroked it. Then she ran her hand through his curls and said, ‘You probably didn’t mean it that way, right?’

  ‘That twit made me furious,’ Rupert said, looking more as if he was talking to his bottle of whisky rather than his wife. ‘I would have loved to knock him out of his suit, as he stood there so smugly. For them we’re all just East Frisian idiots. Sometimes I don’t know what I should say, and then I remembered that saying of yours.’

  She grabbed his hair tighter and pulled his head back so that he had to look at her.