The Oath

by Klaus-Peter Wolf

  Although Odysseus was being very familiar with him now, Kaufmann decided to keep things objective and to maintain some distance. ‘I’m not at all like you. I have a temper. I’ve fought with many a man. But I’ve never harmed a child in my entire life.’

  Odysseus held the dagger tightly in his left hand, still hidden in the pocket of his hoodie, but waved his right hand in the air and scoffed. ‘Oh, come on! You can’t fool me! And why? I’ve been watching you closely. Those were wonderful days on Langeoog. The ladies were wearing short skirts, as if their legs were only there for men’s amusement, but you didn’t look at them. You think I’m an idiot? Ten guys are sitting there and staring until their eyes fall out because a cutie just rode by, but it just didn’t interest you or me in the least. We couldn’t take our eyes off the little girl whose scoop of ice cream had fallen from her cone, making her cry.’

  Kaufmann even remembered the scene. At the time he’d had the impulse to buy the kid a new ice cream. Then her mother had come running over. She’d been engrossed in a conversation with a friend somewhere and lost sight of her kid. Now she felt guilty and was grabbing the child, wiping away her tears and queuing up with the her for a new scoop of ice cream.

  Odysseus had drawn his conclusions from those tiny sequences. How much the glasses you look through colour everything you see, Kaufmann thought.

  ‘Where’s the body of Steffi Heymann?’

  Odysseus’ face twisted into an ugly grin and he nodded knowingly, as if he understood everything now. ‘So you’re one of those. I knew it! That’s why you followed me. That’s why you didn’t betray me. That’s why you always come back here; you are turned on by dead children! How often have you broken into morgues? Come on, tell me, then I’ll show you where she lies. And the names of the two others, if you’re so interested.’

  ‘I’ve never broken into a morgue.’

  ‘Liar! You started just like me. How can you get close to a dead child’s body if you don’t have the courage to kill them yourself? And you couldn’t do that; I can see that in you. You’re a cleaner.’ Odysseus pointed to the water. ‘I buried her there. At low tide. There won’t be much left of her. But I still like coming here. It’s as if her little soul were still here, in this place. As if she couldn’t leave it. I feel her presence here. Do you feel it too?’

  ‘Nonsense! Don’t tell me sick stories like that. If her body can’t be found or rotted long ago, why do you come back here?’

  The wind blew away his words. Kaufmann had difficulty understanding him. Was it a trick? Did he want to be closer?’

  ‘All my life I have looked for someone like me. Someone I can swap ideas with. Someone who sticks with me, knows my worries.’ He waved him away, but Kaufmann hadn’t even said anything. ‘Don’t get me started on these so called paedophile clubs. I don’t want anything to do with them. It all disgusts me. Besides, at some point the cover is always blown because the police have sneaked in and exposed them.

  No, I was looking for a friend. A kindred spirit. A creature like myself. Perhaps you could have been that. I really could have pictured that, back then, when we met for the first time on this island. But we’re too different. You’re trying too hard to be like them and play on their team. That always goes wrong, as you must have noticed by now.

  And now you’re planning to kill me. Just like you killed Heymann and Stern. But you won’t get anywhere because my senses are sharper than yours. I think more clearly. And I trust my intuition.’

  Odysseus slowly pulled his left hand with the dagger out of the pocket of his hoodie. The blade alone frightened Kaufmann. He took a step back and reached into his jacket pocket.

  Odysseus fell forward, knocking Kaufmann off balance, almost pulling him over, and thrust. He caught Kaufmann’s upper right arm with the sharp dagger.

  Kaufmann fell.

  Odysseus was already sitting on Kaufmann’s chest and pressing the tip of the dagger below his larynx. He could feel the gun, but couldn’t reach it. He knew he was in extreme danger. If he paid the gun attention for only a second too long Kaufmann would use the chance to shake him off.

  Then he had the Walther PPK between his thumb and index finger and lifted it up.

  ‘Well, what do we have here?’ he asked. ‘The good old Walther. Wasn’t that James Bond’s service revolver? Do you have a phone? Give me your phone. I want your phone, damn it!’

  Birger Holthusen briefly pointed the pistol in Kaufmann’s face without taking the tip of his knife from his neck. It looked as if he were thinking about the best way to kill him. He put the Walther in his trouser pocket and grabbed the dagger with both hands.

  Wilhelm Kaufmann carefully moved his head from left to right because he was afraid the blade could sink into his throat. He felt warm blood running down the left side of his neck.

  ‘I don’t have a phone with me,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t want to be constantly tracked.’

  ‘Oh really, you’re one of those. Old school, huh? I’ll bury you where Steffi Heymann also lies. Hmm, no. By the time I’d have dug the hole, what’s the point? I’ll just cut your throat and disappear. That’s what you did with Heymann and Stern. Isn’t it ironic that now you’ll die the same way they did? Next to the sea, head cut off? I can’t promise you that I’ll get your head completely off. I don’t have a saw. Or an axe. Just this Swiss dagger. An old back up weapon for Swiss soldiers, created to silence opponents quickly. But hardly ideal for cutting through bones. I think you need a different weapon for that. Well, at least I’ll cut your throat, you can be sure of that. Everyone will see the connection between you and the two others.

  He lifted the dagger high above his head and held it with both hands.

  He wanted to put all of his strength behind it, slamming it down, directly into Kaufmann’s neck. But like this, for a tiny moment, his upper body became an unprotected surface.

  Kaufmann took his chance and punched Odysseus in the ribs, immediately taking his breath away. Then when the knife came down, Odysseus was only holding it with his left hand, not with both.

  Kaufmann grabbed it. The two of them struggled for the dagger, and now Kaufmann had a better chance because Odysseus couldn’t get any air and pain paralysed his right side.

  The dagger fell into the sand. Kaufmann tossed Odysseus off like a horse tired of its knight. Then he punched him twice in the face.

  Odysseus’ upper and lower lips burst simultaneously. He yelled something that Kaufmann didn’t understand. His bloody mouth had something vampire-like about it, as if Count Dracula had been disturbed while sucking blood.

  Odysseus jumped up and ran down the dune towards the North Sea.

  Kaufmann searched the sand. He found the dagger because the stars reflected like diamonds on the sharpened blade. He didn’t find the Walther. Perhaps Odysseus had it and was waiting for the night sky to offer him a good shot at Kaufmann.

  Odysseus had arrived at the rubbish bin. It seemed like a warning on this long sandy beach not to drop litter in such a beautiful place.

  ‘You’re already where you belong!’ Kaufmann called. ‘In the rubbish!’

  Kaufmann stumbled down the dunes, his legs wide apart, looking sort of ridiculous to Odysseus. He pointed the Walther at Kaufmann and fired the first shot.

  Odysseus had never fired a gun like that before and the pistol’s kick felt special. It propelled his insides forward. The bang hurt his ears. He felt numb. He didn’t want to pull the trigger again. It wasn’t like in the movies. No one would watch films with constant shooting if they were as loud as in real life, he thought.

  Kaufmann stopped and raised his hands, the dagger in his right one. Odysseus held the Walther with both hands. In the moonlight the trickle of blood on his neck looked as though a spider was crawling out of Kaufmann’s Adam’s apple, heading for his open shirt.

  ‘I’m aiming right at your head. Come down now! And drop the knife – right here!’

  Odysseus asked himself why he hadn’t just b
lown a hole in Kaufmann’s head. It wouldn’t have been difficult. He was only a couple of metres in front of him. He practically couldn’t miss.

  Maybe it was the noise the gun had made. At any rate, he didn’t shoot again.

  I’m a very old being, he thought. I’m from a time when people didn’t use guns. Swords and knives are the weapons of choice for me. Or . . .’

  Then he had an idea that pleased him greatly. ‘You have the choice,’ he said. ‘Either I take you out with a bullet or you swallow this pill here. I bought it in Thailand. I’ve been carrying it around for ages so they can’t take me alive. People like us should try not to be held captive, don’t you think? What do you think they’d do with you if they found out that you beheaded two people so they couldn’t be like you? It wouldn’t be nice, believe me.’

  Now he indicated Kaufmann’s right hand with the dagger again. ‘I said you should throw the knife over here!’

  Kaufmann did so.

  ‘OK, and now it’s your decision. Poison or bullet?’

  Wilhelm Kaufmann immediately chose the poison. He hoped he would be able to gain some time. Maybe someone had heard the shot. Maybe there were already people on the way. Possibly an animal activist who was on the beach because they were afraid that someone was hunting seals. But more than likely everyone would think the noise was someone setting off fireworks for a wedding party or something. Who on Langeoog would think of a shot from a Walther pistol? Here on Flinthörn, the most beautiful place on earth that Kaufmann knew.

  Odysseus held out a hand containing the capsule, shaking with excitement. He moved around, agitated, and Kaufmann worried that he’d accidentally let off a second shot.

  ‘If you’re trying to trick me, I’ll shoot you in the balls – and then in the head!’ Odysseus yelled.

  Kaufmann stuck the capsule in his mouth in such a way that Odysseus could see exactly what was happening. He even held it between his teeth for a moment. Then he let it disappear into his mouth.

  He acted as if he were choking down a horse pill, but in reality he had stuck the capsule behind his teeth.

  ‘OK, and now the two of us wait until you fall,’ Odysseus said. ‘Don’t try to trick me. This stuff works. Can you feel anything yet?’

  Kaufmann shook his head.

  ‘Did you swallow the capsule?’

  Kaufmann nodded.

  Odysseus put the pistol in his trouser pocket and picked up the dagger. Using the dagger wouldn’t cause any commotion.

  The two of them stood opposite each other and stared. Seen from a distance, they could have been mistaken for a couple in love; perhaps sorting out some disagreement. In reality each of them was trying to see through the other’s plans.

  Kaufman was afraid that the saliva in his mouth would dissolve the capsule and that the poison would ultimately have its lethal effect, regardless of whether he swallowed the pill or not. A bitter taste was spreading in his mouth already, and he felt the urge to vomit.

  Odysseus feared that Kaufmann had found some trick to make the capsule disappear without swallowing it. If he doesn’t collapse in the next two minutes, he thought, then I’ll cut his throat and be done with it.

  ‘Kneel down,’ he demanded.

  Kaufmann did so.

  ‘Keep your upper body straight!’

  Kaufmann followed this order too.

  Odysseus now stood behind him, grabbed Kaufmann’s hair with his right hand and pulled his head way back. He held the blade to Kaufmann’s throat with his left hand.

  At that very moment, Kaufmann’s body went limp and collapsed.

  The poison had worked after all.

  Kaufmann began to twitch. He now lay on the ground, a pitiful picture, seizures overtaking his whole bode.

  Odysseus watched him, but there was no feeling of triumph. Instead, he was sad that he wouldn’t have this intended death for himself so as to avoid the justice system.

  He decided to put an end to Kaufmann’s terrible suffering. It was as though he were releasing himself as he raised the blade for the second time to thrust it into Kaufmann’s throat.

  However, as Odysseus raised his arms, Kaufmann took the opportunity to propel his legs forward, hitting Odysseus in the chin and then the stomach.

  Once again the two of them struggled for the dagger. This time Kaufmann was on top. He spat terrible-smelling saliva into Odysseus’ face and then drove the double-edged blade into his chest. It missed his heart, but went deep.

  Odysseus stared at his opponent with wide open eyes. ‘So the pill didn’t work?’, he asked in a small voice.

  ‘No, you scumbag! You’ve been tricked.’ Kauffman said, and then ran to the sea to wash his moth out with salty water. He gargled and spat. He’d had no idea how delicious seawater could taste. As he vomited the water back into the Northsea, he was thankful for every drop that left his body. Who knows, he thought, what was in that pill.

  Odysseus was bleeding to death on the beach. The pistol was still in his trouser pocket, but he wasn’t able to reach it, otherwise he might have put an end to his suffering himself.

  He lay on his back and looked up into the starry sky. He felt strangely peaceful, at ease with what was happening to him. He hoped that if his soul was reincarnated, he would get a good new start. Maybe be like everyone else. Get married, start a family, concentrate on work and hobbies. Not be constantly tormented by his inner demons as he had been in this life.

  *

  The police choir was interrupted in the middle of the song ‘Super-duper Rupert’. They had wanted to combine a barbeque with a rehearsal that evening on police psychologist Elke Sommer’s veranda, but Büscher explained that he needed all hands on deck, immediately.

  Elke Sommer replied that people who have to forgo their free time for too long got worse instead of better at their jobs, but Büscher wasn’t interested. He didn’t even accept the arguments from Marion Wolters and Sylvia Hoppe, who claimed they were too drunk to drive and consequently unavailable.

  It was shortly after midnight when the emergency meeting began in Aurich police station.

  Marion Wolters smelled of red wine and charcoal, Sylvia Hoppe had difficulties accepting the seriousness of the situation because she couldn’t get the lyrics from the ‘Super-duper Rupert’ song out of her head. She hummed to herself.

  ‘A specialist at livin’ large

  If you ask him, he’s in charge.

  What’d they do without that cat?

  They’d have nothing to laugh at.’

  She asked with a grin, ‘What does Rupert have to say about it all?’

  Marion Wolters poked her, telling her to shut up, but that only made Sylvia giggle even more.

  Elke Sommer attempted a particularly objective tone when she said, ‘Please, despite the seriousness of this situation, there’s still life outside our police duties. We had just put a couple of burgers on the grill. Can’t all of this wait until tomorrow morning?’

  As Sylvia Hoppe started giggling again, Marion Wolters apologised for her, saying, ‘Sorry, she simply can’t handle her alcohol.’

  Büscher groaned, ‘We’re dealing with a very serious situation here.’

  At that moment Rieke Gersema arrived, breathless from running.

  ‘I’m afraid our culprit,’ Büscher said, ‘has struck again, and the victim is another suspect Ubbo Heide had investigated. This time it’s a certain David Weissberg.’

  ‘Yes, we already know that. But what are we supposed to do tonight?’ Marion Wolters wanted to know.

  ‘I need,’ Büscher said thumping on the table, ‘for you to all think, damn it! I’m new here and can’t know every single detail as well as you do. The killer comes from among you – that’s completely obvious!’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ Elke Sommer called, incensed. ‘One of you!’

  ‘Us,’ Büscher corrected and continued, ‘At the moment many of our lines of investigation are leading us in the direction of Wilhelm Kaufmann. So I need to know everyt
hing! When did you see him last? Who was in contact with him privately? I want to know everything about that man, even his relationships in our police station. Is that clear? Someone is giving him tips, clues, warning him. He’s disappeared off the face of the earth. We’ve issued a warrant for him.’

  Rupert raised his hand, which made Sylvia Hoppe start giggling again. ‘Can’t we just track his phone?’ he suggested.

  Marion Wolters said in Rupert’s direction, ‘He’s not that stupid; he doesn’t use a mobile phone.’

  ‘What? You’re stupid if you have a mobile phone?’ Rupert asked in astonishment.

  ‘We could,’ Sylvia Hoppe suggested, ‘suggest that from now on, everyone has to carry a phone. That way we could at least track them anytime.’

  A part of her was still drunk, but not enough that she wasn’t immediately embarrassed by what she’d said. She tried to force herself to shut up, but alcohol made her so chatty. Her first marriage had failed due to a combination of this and husband’s lack of sense of humour.

  Büscher returned to the fundamentals. ‘So what do you know about him? Where could he be? Friends. Favourite places.’ He let his gaze wander. He wanted to look each and every one of his colleagues in the eye once.

  ‘Damn it,’ he cursed desperately, ‘you must know more than I do!’

  *

  A couple of minutes after Ann Kathrin had arrived in Aurich, Weller opened the door to Wilhelm Kaufmann’s place in Brake. The local police had already searched the apartment and had found no indication of where he could be.

  Weller put on some rubber gloves. He hated the things, but didn’t want to contaminate the place with his DNA unnecessarily. He was alone in the well-decorated apartment. There was a view of the river through the window, as well as of the hotel and restaurant that Wilhelm Kaufmann had been running since his humiliating dismissal from the police force.

  What would Ann Kathrin do now? Weller thought. Probably go to the bookcase first.