by James Runcie
‘Mine is blue.’
‘But Otto’s is green.’
‘Then talk to Otto.’
‘He is missing.’
Karl sighed. ‘This really isn’t any of your concern, Mr Chambers.’
‘But it is interesting that you use the word “concern”. You have all been trying to make us think that if this ever became a case of murder then it would be motivated by revenge. Günter Jansen and his father were responsible for the ruin of Otto’s family. Otto Pietsch only discovered this recently, at his father’s funeral. He drives a green Trabant. Now he has disappeared. Why? Because his mother must have warned him this might happen. If anyone thought Günter’s death was not an accident then the Pietsch family would have been made a scapegoat all over again.’
‘Otto is probably in Berlin.’
‘It does not matter, because I think that you were driving his car on the night of the accident.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Because you decided to split the responsibility for Günter’s death.’
‘I don’t understand why you think any one of us would want to kill a friend.’
‘Let me try and explain,’ Sidney began. ‘Then perhaps you can tell me if it is true or not.’
‘I don’t see why we should listen to you,’ said Maria.
‘Have patience,’ Hildegard cut in. ‘It is probably safer to know what people are saying about you than not.’
‘Rumours never help anyone,’ said Karl.
‘You gave everyone a lift home,’ Sidney continued. ‘That you admit.’
‘I do.’
‘But you didn’t go home yourself.’
‘I didn’t?’
‘No, you did not; at least, not immediately. Instead, at Otto’s house, you switched cars. You got into his dark-green Trabant because everyone had seen you in your pale-blue car all night. Otto either knew exactly what you were doing or was too drunk to notice you take his keys. You knew that if there were green paint marks found at the scene of the crime, no one would think it was you because your car is blue; and if anyone did see a dark-green car then it would be easy to blame the Pietsch family because Otto had a motive for murder.’
‘This is not what happened.’
‘I think it’s close enough. You left well before Günter. Rolf Müller knew of the plan and detained him so that you had enough time to take Otto’s car and lie in wait. You parked just beyond the bend, out of sight, probably with your lights off.’
‘If I did that then I would be the one most likely to be hit.’
‘But you weren’t. I think you had some form of communication with Rolf Müller. He gave you a warning when Günter was leaving. You waited for him to approach the bend. As soon as you saw him you accelerated, hit him from the side, pushed him into the ditch and drove on, probably back to Rolf Müller’s house. He then reported on “the accident” and made sure that the evidence fitted the explanation. Otto is missing because his car is missing. He has taken it far away, probably with traces from Günter’s motorbike on the front left bumper.’
Karl Fischer was unmoved. ‘You’ve no evidence for any of this.’
‘We have your words. They are on Jürgen’s tape recorder. He liked to keep it running on record; something he probably learned from his father. He played me a little section. I had to ask Hildegard what it meant. Maria is heard asking: “Hat der Spatz seinen Baum gefunden? Has the sparrow found its tree?” And you reply: “Ja, sein Nest ist am Boden. Yes, his nest is on the ground.” The Sparrow was Günter’s nickname from school. You both knew he was going to die.’
‘That tape could mean anything.’
‘I think it is clear.’
‘Even if it is, who will you tell this fantastical story? Rolf Müller? He will be amused if this is your attempt to make sense of it all. Then, if you persist, he will be annoyed. And that won’t help you.’
‘I hope Rolf Müller will be chastened and pursue a conviction. And if he does, then you may not be so confident in your answers. We think he retouched Günter’s bike to add a little blue paint. Insurance, so that he could blame either you or Otto, whoever paid him least to keep quiet.’
‘You have been so inventive, Mr Chambers,’ Karl Fischer replied. ‘You have worked so hard when you should have been on holiday. It’s such a shame, and in such a beautiful landscape. You must have missed so much.’
‘I don’t think I’ve missed anything at all.’
Maria Jansen spoke at last. There was no point continuing, she said. It was one man’s word against another’s. Everyone at the Villa Friede would wonder where they were. ‘Anyone will think this story is crazy.’
‘You all worked together,’ Sidney insisted. ‘Otto Pietsch’s family was ruined by the Jansens and they have waited thirteen years for vengeance. Rolf Müller has bad debt, thought he was being outmanoeuvred by Günter’s corruption and made sure that he would profit from any “accident” and loss of property. And you two love each other.’
‘You would know our feelings better than we do ourselves?’ Maria asked. ‘How can you say such things?’
‘I am not judging you.’
‘But you have accused us. And I don’t believe you can prove anything at all.’
‘Günter’s death was an accident,’ Karl Fischer resumed. ‘If you suggest anything different we will make counter-accusations. We will create so many stories and so much paperwork that no one will ever know what truly happened. We might even find a way to make you look responsible yourself, Mr Chambers. You are a stranger and an amateur. No one will believe anything you say unless you would prefer to stay here for five or six years in order to try and prove your theory. Prosecutors and the police will give up. Nothing can be done. It’s too much work over the death of a man nobody liked.’
‘Günter always thought he was popular.’
‘He was deluded,’ said Maria. ‘He made everyone around him miserable.’
‘Not his son.’
‘Jürgen was afraid of him, just as I was. Neither of us ever loved him.’ She turned to Hildegard. ‘You know what it is like to be married to the wrong man.’
‘You don’t mean Sidney?’
‘No. Your first husband. The one who killed himself.’
‘He was murdered,’ said Sidney.
‘That was not the story we were told.’
‘Let’s not talk about this,’ said Hildegard.
Maria would not let her go. ‘You have found happiness. Why can’t I?’
‘I think you know the answer to that. You will find happiness only when you confront the truth.’
Karl cut in to prevent any admission of guilt. ‘The Jansen family started the treachery a long time ago. They used us all.’
‘And so what was,’ Sidney asked, ‘in one generation a tight group of friends becomes, in the next, a closed circle of deceit?’
‘You could say that. In fact you can say what you like. No one will listen to you.’
‘I wonder if you will be able to live easily knowing that this crime is on your conscience?’
‘I have conscience enough,’ said Maria at last. ‘Although I don’t feel any better; only that the pain cannot be as bad as it once was.’
‘People think that death will help matters,’ said Sidney. ‘That it brings on an ending. But it seldom does. The things that trouble us are the hardest to forget. If we do something rash, hoping a violent act will overcome a past horror, then we double the agony.’
‘Perhaps if I’d known you before,’ said Maria, ‘you would have told me. You preach the selfless life. And I know Jesus said we had to love our neighbour as ourselves. But so many people hate themselves; how can someone like me love their neighbour, or even their husband, if they cannot love themselves?’
‘By understanding that the greatest happiness often comes from outside.’
‘That’s easy for you to say.’
‘No,’ Sidney answered firmly, ‘it’s not at all easy to say, mu
ch less to practise. But that is what faith involves. It’s not only a question of belief in God. That may even be the easy bit. It’s faith in other people that counts.’
‘Even when they let you down?’
‘Especially when they let you down.’
‘And if they keep doing so?’
‘Sometimes you do have to walk away,’ said Sidney. ‘I know that. It’s not always a sin to give up on people – but it is to kill them.’
The ‘holiday’, such as it was, had come to an end. The Chambers family made their farewells and Sibilla Leber said that she hoped they might visit her in Leipzig for Christmas.
‘You know how you always loved it as a child, Hildegard. You were so excited when your Advent Calendar came and I remember how you used to fill your shoes with grass so early for the Feast of St Nicholas. One year you even filled them twice, hoping that he would come back and put sweets in them all over again!’
‘I know, Mother, you say this every time I come home; but Trudi did that. Not me.’
‘I wouldn’t be guilty of such a mistake. We could make Stollen and gingerbread houses and dress the tree with the family decorations. Anna would learn about our traditions and sing carols as they are supposed to be sung – in German.’
‘Christmas is difficult for us, Mother, as you know. It is a busy time of year for Sidney.’
‘He can’t be in church all the time. Indeed, from what you tell me, he is not there very much at all. I am surprised . . .’
‘You could always come and stay with us,’ Sidney interrupted gallantly.
‘I prefer my own home. But it is kind of you to offer,’ Sibilla Leber replied. ‘I know you don’t really like coming here.’
‘That’s not true, Mother.’
‘I am sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. Forgive me.’ Sibilla was suddenly tearful. ‘I don’t always remember that I have two daughters. You are so far away. And I do like seeing my little Anna. She is growing so fast. She reminds me of you, Hildegard. She has the same imagination. I hope you are proud of her.’
‘We are.’
‘Don’t spoil her. She needs discipline. When will she start the piano?’
‘Next year, I hope.’
‘That’s good. One family tradition will continue at least. Please don’t make it such a long time before you come back, my beloved. If it’s for my funeral I shall be very angry.’
The Chambers family took an evening train to Lübeck, crossed the border, and travelled back into West Germany as night fell. Sidney was glad to be on his way home at last but fretted that things had been left unfinished. Justice had not been done. Hildegard tried to console him by saying that he couldn’t be expected to win every battle, especially in a foreign land.
‘And remember, those students in Cambridge avoided punishment when that necklace was stolen. You turned a blind eye there.’
‘That was theft rather than murder and they were young.’
‘Is morality relative?’
‘I think punishment should fit the crime. But in this country there are so many laws it’s hard to keep track. Everyone is so watchful, so suspicious. Even when people are supposed to be enjoying themselves they aren’t able to relax.’
Anna slept on her mother’s lap and the train sped on towards Hamburg. Hildegard asked why her husband thought himself so responsible for the happiness of others. Some people were never going to be content. It was a delusion. Why expect them to be something that they could never be?’
‘Because I am a priest. I have to believe that we can all be redeemed.’
‘I am not sure Maria will ever be convinced of that, despite her faith. Some people cannot escape themselves.’
‘Have you ever felt like that?’ Sidney asked.
‘During my first marriage, yes, towards the end; and sometimes in the past, during the war. But let’s not talk about that now.’
‘Coming to Germany has made me remember all over again how different our lives were before we met. I think it was listening to Bach last Sunday, sung in German in a German church as it would have been two hundred and fifty years ago. I try to keep in mind the fact that you haven’t had an easy life – not since you were a child.’
‘After my father died. That’s when so many children grow up; when the first parent goes, no matter how old they are. It happened much earlier to me. I am not alone in that.’
‘No, but then there was the war.’
‘And after it, I took some risks,’ Hildegard admitted. ‘I left my homeland to form another life. I do not like to complain. I always have music, just as you have faith. That is my consolation. And everything has been better since I met you . . .’
‘As it has been for me.’
‘And as it could be for Maria if they all escape justice.’
‘Do you understand what it must have been like for her?’
‘I don’t know, Sidney. I don’t think I have ever had such desperation. But that does not mean I do not have moments of loneliness. Sometimes I have to submit to the sadness and let it pass. They are not because of anything you have done. They just come.’
‘There are times when I don’t quite know how to help,’ Sidney replied, ‘and I leave you to your piano or your thoughts. But I am sure I should do better. Priests are like doctors. They often neglect those closest to them.’
‘When you are exiled from your own country and then come back, as I have done, you feel that you are a stranger in both places: too German for England and now too English for Germany, or whatever country my homeland has become. And I am not a proper communist, like my father, in spite of what everyone thinks. I look at the GDR and I see what is happening and I do not feel his successors are doing such a great job. I don’t think that this is what he imagined when he fought and died for the cause thirty-five years ago. And so I cannot help but feel separated from all that hope and history. My mother is the same. She won’t admit it . . .’
‘She has to keep the flame alive.’
‘It’s hard for her, Sidney. You think she does not like you but you should not worry about that. If I had married Günter it would have been the same. She has never liked anyone who is not my father. And he was not a saint, never mind what she says.’
‘I wish I had met him.’
‘I wish you had too; and I sometimes wish I had known you earlier. But then we were different people and we may not have loved each other. So perhaps it is just as well. You can be a different kind of hero to our family, Sidney . . .’
‘I think heroism is dangerous.’
‘Don’t worry. You are far from being one in the traditional sense.’
‘What about the untraditional?’
‘There is still hope. Look at Anna sleeping. We must be her anchor.’
‘And we will be,’ Sidney promised. ‘Both of us.’
They looked out of the train window to see a firework display over Hamburg. It was as if people were sending their own miniature rockets to the moon, bursting with light and transient colour. ‘Do you think we will ever have a normal life?’ Hildegard asked.
‘Not a chance,’ her husband replied. ‘Do you want one?’
‘Not in a million years.’
Hildegard smiled, took her husband’s hand and studied it. ‘If only I could tell our future.’
Love and Duty
There were many times in Sidney’s life when he felt grateful for the opportunities God gave; when he found himself in a situation he could not have been in had he chosen a different profession. Some of them had been difficult and tragic, yet there were other, more consoling and surprising moments of respite. One of them was his unlikely attendance at the Royal Albert Hall to hear Pink Floyd play on 7th February 1970.
Roger Waters, whom Sidney had first met on the Meadows after the theft of Olivia Randall’s necklace, had provided him with a pair of tickets. Sidney had been at the start of so many things for him, he said, and he had been the accidental inspiration for one of their finest songs. The
bass player and co-lead vocalist of one of Britain’s most exciting ‘prog-rock’ bands did not specify the exact track but sent an LP care of the cathedral so that Sidney could experience ‘how it all blends together’.
Hildegard was teaching in Ely until seven that evening and Geordie was investigating an arson attack on a Cambridge antique shop, so Sidney invited Amanda to accompany him. He had not seen her for a while and asked his wife if it would be all right, saying that he wanted news of his friend’s job and her life post-divorce. Hildegard said that she would be amused to discover what Amanda thought of such avant-garde music and, even though it might cheer her up, she was pretty sure their friend would complain about the volume.
Sidney was distracted on leaving Ely, missed the train he had intended to catch, and was late. Amanda smoked a cigarette and fretted as she waited, worried about missing the beginning of the concert, only to be told that these events never started on time anyway. A student in a T-shirt and jeans then told her that she looked pretty cool for a woman ‘her age’.
Amanda had not taken kindly to the remark but was, none the less, flattered that the younger generation had paid homage to her elegance. She was wearing a Hannah Troy white silk dress with a black front panel, flared elbow-length sleeves and what appeared to be a clerical collar, half black and half white.
‘I can’t be good all the time and I need to dress up in the evenings otherwise I get too depressed. Besides, I thought this might amuse you, Sidney. Never grey. Just black and white. That’s what you get and, at the moment, because of your tardiness, I’m afraid I’m feeling pretty black. You must never leave me to wait on my own in public again. I haven’t got the cheekbones for it.’
Sidney looked stricken and then caught her eye. He could see that she didn’t really mean what she was saying. ‘I’m glad you’re back to your combative best,’ he said. ‘But don’t worry. I think we’ll be all right. We’ve got a box so we can slip in and out. And Roger promised he’d send up some drinks.’
‘You don’t get that at the Proms.’
‘I don’t think they let you take anything in to Glyndebourne either. Things are looking up.’