Three and a Half Minutes

by Caroline Fyffe

  Günther considered trying to flush Stephen out. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any information that would help.

  “It’s about the other night at my apartment. I’ve been thinking. Trying to figure out who it is you’re after. Unfortunately, I don’t have a clue.”

  “So why the call?”

  Günther folded himself down into his sofa, anything but comfortable. Flocki jumped into his lap.

  “Because on Sunday, I inadvertently noticed you had an unexplained interest in my brother.”

  There was a long silence. “You’re quite astute. Maybe you should rethink your line of business.”

  “I am right then?” Günther was in no mood for games.

  “Yes.”

  “He doesn’t have anything to do with your case. He’s a priest, for God’s sake.”

  “That may be, but that doesn’t mean he’s above the law.”

  “No?”

  “Absolutely not. Everyone that has any connection to the school is suspect. His connection is you. Besides, he had clearance to top secret codes and information when he served in the army, in case it’s slipped your mind.”

  Günther’s temper flared. He mentally counted to five before responding. “There’s something else.”

  “Go on.”

  “Last Saturday evening, I couldn’t sleep. I went for a late-night walk and found myself at the school. I went inside and corrected papers for a few hours. On my way out of the building sometime early Sunday morning, I encountered two persons sneaking out of the building.”

  “How do you know they were sneaking? Maybe they were just working late like you.”

  “Because they were dressed in black and were wearing hoods. And because they were being as quiet as they could. They crept down the stairs, from above. When they got to my floor, one must have sensed that someone else was there and stopped for a few seconds before going on. They were definitely sneaking. I followed them but didn’t get a look at either face.”

  “Damn it, Christove! Why didn’t you call me right away?”

  Stephen had every right to be irritated with him. He should have found some time to tell him on Sunday outside the church when they were talking with Camille. At the thought of her, his heart thumped a little harder, but he pushed the feelings away.

  “Because I wanted to see what I could find out on my own. I was annoyed to see that you were investigating Florian.”

  “Well, the trail is cold now, thanks to you. Still, I’ll go over there and see if I can’t find some prints or something. How late do they work in those offices?”

  “It varies on weekdays.”

  “Could one of them have been your brother?”

  “I knew you’d ask me that. No. Neither one was Florian.”

  “How do you know? You said they were covered and you didn’t get a look at their faces.”

  “I checked it out. He has an alibi. He was on call that night and had gone over to the hospital to administer last rites.”

  “Did you tell him what’s going on?” Stephen asked hotly.

  “You forbade me to, remember? I just asked how his evening was and he told me about his trip to the hospital. He has no idea you’re looking into his past. I want to keep it like that.”

  Günther heard a long, exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone line.

  “The next time you have any, and I mean any information, you better call. Control your Sherlock Holmes ambitions.”

  Flocki had abandoned Günther during his long conversation. She must have been agitated by his uncharacteristically aggressive tone, and jumped off his lap to find another napping spot. “Stephen,” Günther began, “what are your intentions for Camille? I don’t like to see people being used.”

  More than four seconds went by in silence.

  “Who says I’m using her? What business is it of yours, anyway?”

  “She’s my student. And she’s vulnerable right now. I don’t want her going home with a broken heart. You just want to get close to the other students and she’s an easy cover for you.”

  “Christove, this conversation is getting ridiculous. I’ll be in touch in a day or two. And Günther,” Stephen lectured, “I’m glad your brother has an alibi. I really am. Talk to you later.”

  That evening at the rectory, Florian spent extra time with his evening prayers. As always, the Lord had provided. If things went as planned, Camille would soon set up a trust fund for Johann. The Eberstarks would use it as needed for Johann’s expenses. Wolfgang would put another bed in Patrick’s bedroom and that would be that. With Wolfgang’s background in law enforcement, the Child Protection Büro couldn’t possibly turn down the adoption. The only obstacle was Bernhard. They needed to find Johann’s uncle, and soon.

  Pfarrer Schimke and Pfarrer Blauberg had retired soon after evening prayer. Pfarrer Blauberg was noticeably slower, feebler, and grew weaker by the day. Florian felt sure his heavenly reward was not that far away.

  Back in his room, Florian reread the letter he’d received today concerning his relocation. The bishop thought St. Anthony’s a very good match for him and thanked him for taking on the challenge. The move would take place in July, a month after the annual diocesan priest retreat.

  Folding it neatly, he slipped it back in the envelope and put it in the top drawer of his desk. Well, that was that. He hadn’t petitioned the bishop to stay, as he thought he might. After praying about it, he decided to let God’s will be done.

  Günther would be fine without his big brother around. They just wouldn’t get to see each other quite as often. Perhaps once a month he’d make the two-hour-long drive across the city for a visit. That wasn’t much.

  More importantly, Johann would be fine now, too. He’d wanted to call Günther right away to tell him the good news about Camille and her generous offer, but by the time he’d gotten back from Wolfgang’s it was time for evening prayer, and then the chairperson of the church festival committee had called and kept him on the phone for almost two hours. After that it was too late. He’d save the good news for the morning.

  Florian stripped out of his clothes and donned a pair of sweats, than lay down on top of his covers. In his reading glasses, he flipped the pages of a motorcycle magazine and let the tensions of the day ease away. He gazed at the beautiful red sports cruiser. It was a powerful machine.

  From somewhere downstairs between the rectory and the church an unfamiliar sound filtered up to Florian. He pushed up on his elbow, listening. A moment went by, but he heard nothing further. He slipped off his bed and grimaced when his bare feet contacted the cold floor. Silently he went over to his window.

  Chapter Thirty

  All was quiet below. It was dark except for the one small light above the gate leading into the cemetery. The olive tree and the sycamores moved slowly in a gentle breeze, so different from the stormy night before. A white cat jumped from the wall between the burial ground and the rectory garage and ran into the blackness of the night.

  Cold radiated from the bottom of Florian’s feet and up his legs, giving him chills. “I need to get to bed,” he spoke into his quiet room. “Günther will be so surprised to hear his student from America was heaven-sent. We must celebrate tomorrow.”

  As Florian turned, something moved down by the gate. A mere shadow drawing his attention back into the yard? No. Someone was standing up against the side of the building. Close to the garage door. His hand was on the doorknob.

  Without a moment of thought, Florian turned and hurried from his room. He bounded down the stairs. He rounded the landing and breezed through the kitchen and stopped. He dropped his hand into his pocket and felt for his rosary, bolstered by the thought of St. Michael and all the angels. He knew the Lord was already by his side. As quietly as he could, he eased open the door between the kitchen and the porch, and slipped inside the large three-car garage.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust to the inky darkness. Slight noises came from the far right corner of the cold, da
nk space. The scent of motor oil, usually very calming, seemed to put his nerves on edge. A flashlight came on and beamed across the open space, missing Florian by a foot.

  Florian crouched and inched past Pfarrer Schimke’s clunker, a dilapidated automobile always in need of repairs, and carefully hid behind the front tire. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.

  He slowly edged his way around the front bumper and flattened himself against the blue Volkswagen sedan parked in the middle slot. A noise and then a low curse came from the invader as if he’d injured himself in some way.

  Gathering his courage, Florian took one quick step to the far wall and hid himself behind the water heater. He peered through the darkness. The intruder hovered around his motorcycle, oblivious to Florian as he went about his business. He wore a dark sweatshirt and hood. What was he doing? Looking for something? The person felt the dash with his hand, then let it fall down the side, moving his fingers as he inspected every nook and cranny.

  He jiggled the handle on the locked glove box, and then stopped. He glanced around behind him in Florian’s direction. Florian’s heart slammed against his ribcage as he flattened closer to the wall. Spider webs and something sharp jabbed into his bare skin.

  The intruder mumbled angrily.

  Florian, now certain the burglar was a man, sized him up. He’d been pretty sure before due to his stature; but then, size could be deceiving.

  The thief, setting his flashlight on the seat of the bike, knelt down and reached up under the engine, as if to place something there.

  Florian took three huge strides and leaped. He landed on the man’s back. The man gasped in total surprise, then let go a string of curses.

  Straining every muscle in his body, Florian wrestled him, grasping for his arm so he could twist it around behind his back. Unsuccessful, they rolled to the left and bumped a stack of boxes. Cartons of paper plates, cups, and plastic utensils left over from the church picnic rained down on the two.

  The man was strong. And big. Saint Michael, Saint Michael, was all Florian could think as the intruder flipped over in his grasp, and tried to scramble away.

  With strength Florian knew wasn’t his, he reached out and grasped the man’s leg before he could get away. He toppled him over.

  Florian leaped up and put his knee square into the man’s back with a force he felt sure would subdue a giant. From inside his jacket the man pulled a knife and sliced wildly as he rolled, making contact with Florian’s neck. The pain was instant and intense but then went forgotten, as warm blood flowed freely onto his chest.

  Lights blazed on.

  “Pfarrer Christove, is that you?” Pfarrer Schimke’s voice called out loudly.

  It was just the distraction Florian needed. When the interloper looked up, Florian grasped his bicycle tire pump within arm’s reach and brought it down hard over the man’s head. He slumped over Florian, out cold.

  Florian rolled the body off his own and tried to stand. “Pfarrer Schimke, over here!”

  His pastor was at his side instantly, helping to steady him. “What in heaven’s name is going on out here? I heard noises and came down to see. Oh, no!”

  Florian pulled the hood from the man’s head, revealing a man they both knew well.

  Bernhard!

  “Florian, you’re bleeding.” Concern laced the older priest’s voice. “Let me get you inside.”

  Florian put his hand over the ugly red slice that started under his left ear and continued down an inch, trying to stop the flow of blood. “I think it’s only superficial. I’ll be all right. First let me tie Bernhard up before he comes around.”

  Pfarrer Schimke went to the tool cabinet and took out a length of twine that was part of the banner for vacation bible school. He returned and gave it to Florian. “What on earth do you think he was up to?”

  The loss of blood was clouding Florian’s thinking. It was a moment before he said, “I’m not sure. Something to do with my motorbike.” He swayed. “We best not touch anything though until we call the authorities and they come and check it out.”

  “Yes, yes of course. This is just like that crime show that’s on every Friday night,” Pfarrer Schimke said. “Who would have thought?”

  “Pfarrer Schimke? Pfarrer Florian? Is that you? Is anyone out here?” Pfarrer Blauberg’s sleepy voice called from the kitchen. “Are you there? Brrr, it’s cold in here. Pfarrer Schimke? Anyone here?”

  “You go take care of Pfarrer Blauberg while I tie up Bernhard,” Florian instructed as he knelt down. “I’ll be right along to get myself cleaned up. And if you can, call Wolfgang and Günther. Let them know we found Bernhard.”

  Wolfgang, Florian, and Günther sat around the kitchen table quietly talking. After all the commotion had settled down, Pfarrer Schimke had summoned Frau Kleimer and asked her to help with Florian until he could get to the hospital. The only one going back to bed tonight was Pfarrer Blauberg.

  “What could this mean, Wolfgang?” Florian asked. “What would Bernhard want in the rectory? And more perplexing, what was he doing with my motorcycle?”

  “He’s not saying just yet and I can only speculate.”

  Günther sipped his coffee, feeling more than a little guilty that he couldn’t tell his brother what he knew. He’d called Stephen Turner as soon as he’d received the call from Pfarrer Schimke waking him from a deep sleep. There was a very good possibility Bernhard was involved with the people Turner was trying to uncover. Stephen had stressed to him the importance that he not give anything away around his brother or any of the others. He’d said he’d had a small breakthrough yesterday and would be in contact as soon as he could.

  “Günther, did you hear what I just said?” Florian asked, an incredulous look on his face. “I think you’re still asleep.”

  “Sorry, no.”

  Belying the fact that Florian’s face was a bit pasty from the loss of blood, it fairly shone with an angelic beauty. “God has given us a solution for Johann.”

  With a noisy clunk, Günther plopped his cup onto the wooden tabletop and coffee sloshed over the rim. “Say that again.” He looked between the two men.

  “It’s true,” Florian continued. “It all transpired last night. I had intended to call you but it became too late so I was saving the good news for today.”

  “Stop stalling, man, and tell me.”

  “Your American friend. Camille. She’s offered to sponsor Johann until he’s eighteen. She’s wealthy, you know. Anyway, during a conversation last night at Wolfgang’s, she offered to help. To set up a trust fund so Wolfgang and Helene could afford to legally adopt him.”

  At the mention of Camille, Günther had to stop and concentrate on what his brother was saying. He’d missed her terribly these last three days. He was sorry over the way he’d treated her when she’d come to the nursing home on Sunday. He understood her explanation, but his irritation had clouded his judgment. She deserved better than he’d given. She’d only been looking out for Johann.

  But this news. It was astonishing. And wonderful. How mysterious were God’s ways.

  Wolfgang and Florian were laughing.

  “This is the first time I’ve seen Günther dumbfounded,” Wolfgang chortled.

  “Yes. I’ll admit that I am. This is unbelievable news. And now that we have Bernhard, and he’s not in a position to dispute anything anymore, the way should be clear. Have you spoken with Ms. Roth yet? What does she say?”

  Florian winced at the mention of their confrontational friend. “Not yet. I’m calling her today.” He pressed his hand to the bandage on his neck. “Right after I go to the hospital. I’m sure she can’t have any objections to this perfect solution.”

  “One would assume,” Günther added sarcastically. “What about Johann, does he know?”

  Wolfgang ran his hand through his hair. He looked worn out. “No. We won’t tell him until we have the definite approval from the agency. We don’t want to get his hopes up just to have them dashed.”

&
nbsp; “You’re right about that,” Günther agreed. “What about your family, Wolfgang? How are Sasha and the twins? Helene?”

  “We are taking one day at a time. Helene has stayed on with Sasha at the medical center while they are testing her. Helene and I agree that it is best if the twins remain with their Großmutter until things at home are stable and we know a little more about their sister’s condition. It won’t be so frightening for them there.”

  Günther nodded. “I think that’s wise.”

  It was nearing eight in the morning and Günther had to get over to the school. He glanced down at his attire, looking a bit shabby since he’d rolled from his bed and rushed over to the rectory after receiving Pfarrer Schimke’s call.

  “I need to get a shower before class.” He looked at Florian. “Call me after you see the doctor.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sitting cross-legged on her bed, Camille hung up the phone from an early morning call to the United States. Kristin had answered, just getting home from school. She was snacking on cheese and crackers while she waited for her grandmother to get home from the grocery store. She sounded much better than she had on Sunday.

  Camille had wanted to shout the exciting news about Johann and how he would now be a part of their lives. But for now, she’d held back, a bit apprehensive since Kristin knew nothing yet about the boy and his struggles. Would she understand her mother’s motivation at all?

  Camille glanced around the quiet room. So much had happened since arriving in Vienna. It was almost like she was a totally different person. In such a short time.

  Would Günther be back in class? She missed him. Not only that, but another day spent with Stena and Branwell in charge would make her scream. They were a formidable pair.

  Yesterday when she stepped out to go to the ladies’ room, Stena announced to the class that after the lunch break they would resume class across Michaelerplatz at the museum, where they would study Austrian impressionists for the rest of the afternoon.