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

by Inge Löhnig

  He was not to let the current situation make him act irrationally. He had to see the bigger picture. One more day. He would like to do everything possible to ensure that the boy could soon be with his mother again. But he wasn’t allowed. They had to understand the signs on their own. What if they didn’t understand? Soon, the third day would dawn and he had still seen no sign of recognition. If the seeds he had sown fell on barren soil and didn’t germinate, then he was also ready to kill the boy. Whatever happened, it would be right.

  * * *

  Robert Bachmaier, the head of the police divers, called Dühnfort around noon. Georg Veith, a member of the German Lifeguards Association, which supported Bachmaier’s team, had told him about an incident from the previous summer. Three children had accused an old man of masturbating around them. The police were called, but the matter apparently came to nothing. Of course, the incident had led to gossip throughout the village and Veith had heard rumours that the man, a retired teacher named Kallweit, had been secretly photographing children.

  Dühnfort knew how such talk arose, that it was often unfounded and was rarely more than just malicious gossip. But sometimes there was more to it.

  The place where the alleged incident happened fell within the jurisdiction of the Baierdilching police, from the neighbouring village, so he drove there to see what they knew about the story. Police station chief Aiblinger told him what had happened at the lake. There had been quite a commotion. Angry mothers, frightened children, an outraged father and an indignant pensioner. But as the children’s statements blatantly contradicted each other, they had shut down the investigation. Aiblinger had never heard the rumours that Kallweit was secretly photographing the children. Nonetheless, Dühnfort decided to pay the man a visit. He asked for the address and drove through the forest, past Mariaseeon’s new forest cemetery and into the village.

  During the short drive, he began to feel uneasy. Dühnfort’s greatest fear was that he might overlook crucial evidence, that the proof wouldn’t stand up in court, that the findings of an investigation wouldn’t be enough to bring a criminal to justice. A point of attack for defence lawyers of his father’s ilk.

  Dühnfort stopped in front of a house with white plaster walls and a wooden balcony. The gate was closed. He rang the bell and glanced round the front garden. Anxiety set in. The lawn looked as if it was hoovered daily. There was not a single leaf on it, nor any weeds growing between the neatly groomed blades of grass.

  The gate was buzzed open and Dühnfort walked down the path to the front of the house. An older man stepped out. He was wearing dark blue chinos and a perfectly ironed light blue shirt. He had a thick head of white hair and he looked sharp and alert. Something about him reminded Dühnfort of Laurence Olivier in his younger years.

  ‘Mr Kallweit? Dühnfort, Criminal Investigation Department, Munich. I’d like to speak with you.’

  ‘What is this regarding?’

  ‘Can we discuss this inside?’

  ‘I assume you have identification?’ Kallweit asked, stepping out into the porch and peering warily at the neighbouring houses to the right and left. Dühnfort pulled his badge out of his jacket. After glancing at it, Kallweit stepped aside. ‘Come in.’

  Dühnfort followed him through a narrow hallway with dark wood panelling until they reached the living room.

  ‘Can I get you anything? Coffee, juice, water?’ Kallweit asked.

  ‘Thanks,’ Dühnfort replied. ‘I’d love a cup of coffee.’

  ‘Please, sit down.’ Kallweit left the room. Dühnfort heard water running in the kitchen.

  Dark furniture soaked up the daylight. White curtains hung in front of the windows and there were watercolour paintings of flowers on the light brown walls. There was a wall unit with crown-glass panels the colour of honey, and a bookshelf filled beyond capacity. Dühnfort walked over to it. His eyes ran across the names – Frisch, Dürrenmatt, Schnitzler, a few volumes of Goethe and Schiller, a Bible – and then lingered on the collected works of Thomas Mann. Some of the old-fashioned volumes looked well thumbed and worn. Dühnfort took Early Stories from the shelf and flipped through it. He heard dishes clattering in the kitchen. He put the book back and continued scanning the shelves. On the next shelf there were botanical books, as well as a reference book on black-and-white photography and darkroom equipment.

  A door closed, footsteps approached. Dühnfort walked over to the wide windowsill. There were family photos placed between pink flowering cactuses. One of them showed Kallweit as a young man, standing beside a plump woman with a button nose and a perm, and three curly-haired blond girls. Dühnfort held up the photo as Kallweit entered the room and set down two mugs of coffee on the tiled coffee table.

  ‘Your wife and daughters?’

  Kallweit took the photo from his hand and put it back. ‘She died ten years ago,’ he said. ‘And the girls left home a long time ago. Please, sit down.’

  Dühnfort took a seat in a massive leather chair. Kallweit sat down next to him, hitched up his trouser creases and crossed his legs. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘what brings you here?’

  ‘I’m leading the investigation into the Jakob Sonnberger case. Do you know the boy?’

  Kallweit looked him over quietly. ‘No,’ he finally answered. ‘And I wouldn’t know how I could be of help with that.’ He shook his head very slightly.

  The man seemed to have good self-control. Dühnfort decided to provoke him. ‘Last summer, there was an ugly incident by the lake.’

  Kallweit exhaled sharply. ‘That was all a misunderstanding.’

  ‘You masturbated in front of some children. What is there to misunderstand?’

  Kallweit leaned forward and reached for his coffee mug. ‘Your coffee’s getting cold,’ he said and took a sip of his own. Then he leaned back.

  ‘As a detective, you should look at an incident from more than one angle. You should also take the circumstances and surroundings into account. Get a complete picture. And before you go chasing after old stories, you should inform yourself. Then you wouldn’t have missed the fact that the prosecutor’s office refused to open an investigation. There was no reason to do so.’

  Dühnfort went silent. He found that people were generally either so uncomfortable with silence that they would continue talking through it, or they were grateful to have a listener and so the floodgates would open.

  ‘There has been a nudist bathing area behind the family area for years. People know that and decide for themselves whether or not they want to go in there,’ Kallweit continued, as he pulled a piece of lint from the leg of his trousers. ‘Last summer, I went swimming there one evening. It was already late. I was alone, which is why there were unfortunately no witnesses. The children turned up just as I was drying off. One of the girls started screaming. She had clearly misinterpreted the situation. The parents came running and the stage was set.’ Kallweit flicked the lint away. ‘They wouldn’t let me say a word. The girl thought that I –’ Kallweit coughed. ‘Well, you know what they thought I did.’

  Dühnfort raised his eyebrows. ‘With no basis for it at all?’

  Kallweit huffed. ‘Aren’t you listening? Children have too much imagination. They’ve already been taught to fear strangers by the time they get to kindergarten. These days, they already know things and have all the vocabulary for it . . . It’s just irresponsible. The girl said I’d been having a wank. What kind of language is that? It’s no wonder that the little ones get so hysterical, with such an education, and then instantly see a naked man as a potential child-molester.’

  ‘Well,’ Dühnfort said and leaned back, ‘there are rumours that you secretly photograph children.’

  Kallweit narrowed his eyes and stared back at him. ‘Anyone who says that is lying, and quite shameless. People in the village know that I’m a good nature photographer. I photograph plants, not children.’ His voice had grown loud and his face was a deep red.

  ‘Plants?’

  ‘There’s a sect
ion of Church Lake where rare aquatic plants grow. It’s protected and during the growing season and the birds’ breeding season it’s out of bounds to the public. I have a special permit from the mayor. My pictures were even published in a calendar. Here, take a look.’

  Kallweit stood up, went to the wall unit, opened a drawer and pulled out an album and a calendar. He slammed both down on the coffee table in front of Dühnfort. Then he flipped open the album. ‘These are the children that I photograph.’ He sat back in his chair, his jaw clenched.

  Dühnfort looked at the pictures. ‘These are lovely photographs.’

  Kallweit seemed to calm down. The muscles in his jaw relaxed.

  ‘You live here, in this small village, and you don’t know little Jakob?’

  Kallweit’s lower jaw dropped open. ‘This village isn’t so small that everyone knows everyone else. Of course, I know the boy by sight, but I have no contact with the family, even though his parents were my students when I taught at the school.’ As he spoke, he regained his composure. His gestures were calmer, the red blotches on his cheeks faded. After a while, he put his hands on his knees and got up from the chair. ‘You’ll have to excuse me. I have an appointment.’

  ‘All right, then I won’t disturb you any longer.’ Dühnfort got up. The cup of coffee remained untouched in front of him on the table. ‘Would you just tell me where you were on Thursday afternoon between three thirty and five thirty?’

  Kallweit considered this a moment. ‘I had an appointment with my doctor, Dr Wiessner,’ he said and led Dühnfort to the door.

  * * *

  By the evening, Gina had found out that the goat parts had come from the local butcher’s. Since the butcher didn’t slaughter goats very often, and since he had also despatched two pigs and two cows on Monday, Gina assumed that the animal remains must have come from Mariaseeon. After all, forensics had found a build-up of cow’s and pig’s blood. But how did they get to the Celtic enclosure?

  Gina had turned to the expert on the matter, which she explained with a grin. Dühnfort stood with her and Alois in front of the Zur Post hotel in the village square. A quick summary before they quit for the evening. ‘Nice guy, Father Schops. But none of his flock knew what to do with a goat. So then I spoke to the director of the youth centre. But he couldn’t help me either. And the kids at the ice-cream parlour, the cool local hangout, don’t talk to anyone over twenty. So, a dead end,’ Gina said.

  Dühnfort reported on Kallweit and asked Alois and Gina to investigate whether there was any substance behind the rumours that he secretly photographed children. Then he left and wondered where he should do his grocery shopping for the weekend. The fridge was empty. On the way to his car, his thoughts turned to Buchholz. He called him to find out if they had finished analysing the glass shard. The piece of equipment they needed to do that was broken. ‘God only knows when the replacement part will be delivered,’ Buchholz said.

  Shit, Dühnfort thought. Before returning to the city, he paid Max Kölle another visit.

  A dark grey Golf with tinted windows was parked under a chestnut tree near the Sonnberger farm. Dühnfort knocked on the car window, which was immediately lowered.

  Kölle was listening to football on the radio; he turned down the volume. ‘Hiya, Tino,’ he said and took the chewing gum out of his mouth and stuffed it into the ashtray.

  Dühnfort congratulated Kölle on the birth of his son, even though it was already eight weeks after the fact. They didn’t see each other very often. Then he asked whether Jakob’s parents were home.

  ‘He hasn’t left the house all day and she got in three minutes ago. She was at her mother’s again. The old lady isn’t doing well. Is your mobile off? I left you a message.’

  Dühnfort got his phone out of his pocket. It was on. The message symbol was blinking on the display. Apparently, he hadn’t heard it ringing. ‘Was there anything else?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s why I called you. I followed her from her mother’s house. She didn’t go straight home but stopped at the cemetery first. While she was watering her father’s grave, she was talking to someone. Some business type, around her age. They seemed to know each other. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but the priest came out of the church as they were leaving. He knew who the guy was.’ Kölle paused.

  ‘And?’ Dühnfort asked.

  ‘Thomas Schmidt. Bank manager of the HSBC in Mariaseeon.’

  Dühnfort took a deep breath. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to Jakob’s parents. Don’t let them out of your sight for a second. How are you splitting the time?’

  ‘I’ll stay on for another hour and then take over the 2 a.m. shift with Rauchenbichler. Him here out front, me at the back on the path. Leave your mobile on.’

  * * *

  Beppo Sonnberger opened the door as soon as Dühnfort rang the bell.

  ‘Have you found Jakob?’ His voice almost cracked. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Unfortunately not.’

  Sonnberger let Dühnfort in and went back into the kitchen. He sank into a chair and ran his hand over his unshaven chin. ‘The worry is eating away at me,’ he said abruptly, looking over at Dühnfort. ‘Do you at least have a lead, a suspicion, anything?’

  ‘We found fibres from Jakob’s jumper at the climbing tree.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘We also found Jakob’s teddy bear. In the Celtic enclosure.’

  A suppressed whimper made Dühnfort turn round. Gabi Sonnberger was standing at the kitchen door. She held her hand over her mouth. Her husband pulled up a chair and gestured to it. ‘Come, sit down.’ But she stayed where she was, leaning against the door frame.

  Dühnfort wondered how he was going to work his way round to the next topic. After all, he couldn’t let the parents know they were being monitored. ‘You still haven’t received any ransom demands?’

  Gabi Sonnberger shook her head.

  ‘Of course not,’ Beppo Sonnberger said and tapped the chair next to him. ‘Gabi, come sit with me.’

  Dühnfort didn’t want to settle for a shake of the head. ‘Mrs Sonnberger?’

  ‘No,’ she said softly. Then she crossed the room and sat in the chair next to the window.

  ‘What’s this about?’ Beppo Sonnberger stood up in front of Dühnfort. A vein on his temple stuck out. ‘Do you think my wife would hide something from me? Is that what you think of us?’

  ‘I have my reasons.’ Dühnfort decided on a small lie. ‘My colleague saw your wife at the cemetery,’ he said and turned to Gabi Sonnberger, who had her back partly turned to him and was staring out of the window. ‘My colleague was in the church talking to the priest and when they came out, you were standing with a man at your father’s grave.’

  ‘Yes, and . . .?’ Gabi Sonnberger glared at Dühnfort.

  ‘She enquired about him. Thomas Schmidt. The branch manager at the bank.’

  Gabi Sonnberger laughed.

  ‘So, you don’t trust us,’ Beppo Sonnberger said.

  ‘Let’s put it this way,’ Dühnfort replied. ‘Your boy has been kidnapped. It’s been forty-eight hours and there’s still no ransom demand, which is strange if this is about a ransom. And then your wife secretly meets with a bank manager in the cemetery. Wouldn’t you be asking the same questions?’

  Gabi Sonnberger stood up and looked at Dühnfort. ‘Thomas is an old school friend of mine. His children are in the same kindergarten group as Jakob. I didn’t meet him secretly, but by chance. I went to the cemetery to water my father’s grave, just as I do every day. We have been trying to do everything the way we normally would. Otherwise we wouldn’t survive. The waiting, and the fear, and the uncertainty, and the fact that there’s nothing we can do . . .’ Her voice got quieter. She turned round and leaned her head against the windowpane. ‘Do you know what it’s like? It’s like a poison that slowly drives you mad, this worry.’

  ‘So, you think my wife is lying. Why would she do that?’ Beppo Sonnb
erger looked at Dühnfort like he was challenging him.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Dühnfort ran his hand across his chin. ‘Maybe she doesn’t trust us. Maybe she’s worried about the agreement you made not to touch the assets.’

  A sound came from the direction of the window. Dühnfort didn’t know whether Gabi Sonnberger had laughed or if it was a sob. He could only see her back.

  ‘I’ve no idea whether I’d touch them or not. After all, one makes agreements in order to stick to them. But the question hasn’t come up.’

  ‘All right then. You have not been in contact with the kidnapper without our knowledge?’

  ‘We’re not stupid.’ Sonnberger grew louder. ‘You have clearly explained to us that we would only be putting Jakob’s life in danger if we did that. Do you really think we would play games with our child’s life?’

  * * *

  Just before eight o’clock, Dühnfort unlocked the door to his flat on Pestalozzistrasse. It was on the third floor and he was out of breath. He unloaded the groceries onto the kitchen table. He’d managed to buy them from the food section of the department store just before it closed. Then he opened the door onto the balcony. Warm evening air filled the room. He’d lived there for the past two years, since he and Konstanze broke up. He’d had to move out very suddenly back then and took the first available flat. The building was pre-war and one of its walls bordered the Old Southern Cemetery, the city’s former plague cemetery. He no longer felt the need to ignore the slightly morbid view of the old trees and the weathered gravestones that leaned at alarming angles and were masked with overgrown ivy. Many had become impossible to read. As the text disappeared, so did the memories of the people that rested beneath them. He liked the idea that nothing lasted forever, and he liked the stone angels that were gradually becoming faceless as they kept watch three floors below.