by Inge Löhnig
He went back into the kitchen, tore off a piece of baguette and ate it standing up. Then he got into the shower, soaped up and wished that his thoughts about the Jakob Sonnberger case would wash down the drain too. At least for a few hours. When he dried off, his eyes landed on his dangling genitals, which suddenly seemed strangely useless to him. For a panicked moment, he was overcome with the fear that everything was already behind him, that there was nothing else ahead, that he would grow old alone and lonely.
‘Idiot,’ he said out loud to his reflection. He went into the kitchen naked, poured himself a glass of Pinot Grigio and drank it. The wine was the right temperature. Full and round, it ran down his throat and reached his stomach with a comforting warmth. In his bedroom, Dühnfort slipped into a pair of Bermuda shorts and a jumper and returned to the kitchen barefoot. His mobile was switched on. He made a mental note not to drink more than two glasses of wine. He was actually expecting a call from Kölle.
Dühnfort spread salted butter onto a slice of baguette, put the wine glass next to the stove, put a CD in the player and turned on the oven. As he listened to John Coltrane’s ‘Lazy Bird’, he sautéed a chopped onion in butter, then mixed it into a paste with some Dijon mustard and rubbed it on a chicken breast. He sprinkled breadcrumbs on top, dripped a few drops of olive oil over it and slid it into the oven. His stomach growled.
While the chicken breast cooked, Dühnfort sat on the balcony and continued eating the baguette with butter, spooning avocado onto it straight from the shell. Before he knew it, he’d emptied the glass of wine. He went into the kitchen, poured himself another, returned to the balcony and put his feet up on the wrought-iron railings.
Something was troubling him, but he didn’t know what. It took a moment for him to come to it. There was something about Kallweit that he deeply disliked. His excessive tidiness and the stuffy furnishings. But there was no accounting for taste. Then the books. In addition to Frisch, Dürrenmatt, Schnitzler and Musil, he had the works of Thomas Mann. Kallweit was a Mann fan. So what? Didn’t Thomas Mann conceal a homoerotic interest in boys and instead channel it into his literature? Was Kallweit so fond of these books because he identified with the author or with one of his characters?
This is absurd, Dühnfort scolded himself. I just don’t like Kallweit. There is nothing against him and I’m on the verge of labelling him a paedophile just because he didn’t seem particularly nice. Not very professional. On top of that, Kallweit was married – not the typical trait of someone who’s partial to small boys. And he has three daughters. Just like Thomas Mann, Dühnfort thought. ‘Now that’s enough!’ He stopped himself, took his feet off the railings and had a sip of wine.
The anxiousness did not subside. Dühnfort made a mental note to speak to the children that had witnessed the incident at the lake last summer. He wanted to get an idea of what had happened. If Kallweit actually had something to do with Jakob’s disappearance, which was just a hunch at this point, then the crime could only be sexually motivated. Dühnfort’s head told him that a ransom note was most likely, but his gut told him that he was on the wrong track.
A soft ding came from the kitchen. He went inside, put the chicken breast on a plate, got some salad from the fridge, filled his wine glass again and then sat back out on the balcony. He enjoyed his dinner, but it stirred up a memory. The recipe had come from Konstanze.
He had met her on vacation and had moved to Munich because of her. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He had actually been thinking about leaving Hamburg for a long time. He was worried that his father would encroach on his territory. The famous defence lawyer Alexander Dühnfort, so at ease in Hamburg society. Konstantin was brought up with the expectation that he would be a worthy successor to his father. He was already in his fourth semester when an incident showed him with shocking clarity that he would be on the wrong side if he followed in his father’s footsteps.
He remembered the evening clearly. A wet, grey November day. Hamburg was blanketed in fog. His father had come straight home from court. He had the obligatory bottle of champagne in his hand, which he always bought when he’d had a victory. His victory was a defeat for the other side. A defeat for justice. Alexander Dühnfort had represented the prominent cosmetic surgeon Sebastian Maas in a sensational trial.
Maas had strangled his wife nearly to death. They were separated and she escaped with her life only because Maas thought she was dead and left her flat. The cleaning lady eventually found Mrs Maas. The surgeon was taken into custody but was let out thanks to his defence counsel Alexander Dühnfort’s successful bail application. Contrary to standard regulations, he was allowed to stay out of prison until the start of the trial. And he used that time to beat his wife to death. He was charged with attempted murder and murder, since his actions had been deliberate and malicious. The famous defence counsel Alexander Dühnfort managed to get those charges dropped.
The charge of attempted murder had to be revised, since it couldn’t be proved that Maas had planned to kill his wife. The only witness was dead. Maas admitted to having beaten and strangled his wife during a row. He was just a hot-tempered man. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, let alone kill her. He felt terribly sorry. He had already started therapy to get his angry outbursts under control.
When Maas killed his wife, he had a blood alcohol content of more than 0.02. This had an advantageous effect on the verdict. His wife had allegedly provoked a fight and humiliated him, leading him to act in the heat of the moment. The murder criteria of intent and malice were then withdrawn. Maas admitted to having beaten his wife. He had only become aware of the fact that the bottle of champagne – which he’d bought to celebrate their reconciliation – was in his hand when his wife was already lying on the floor covered in blood.
Allegedly, he had immediately called an ambulance and even tried to tend to the serious injuries himself. However, in his drunken state, he did not succeed. The prominent cosmetic surgeon Sebastian Maas was then sentenced to three years’ imprisonment for assault with lethal consequence.
On that grey November evening, Alexander Dühnfort had once again popped the champagne cork, boasted about his skilful defence tactics and mockingly thanked the police for their shoddy investigative work.
It was true that the CID had not been meticulous. Questions were left unanswered. For example, whether Maas had been uncontrollably drunk before the act or whether in fact he only started drinking just before the paramedics arrived. No one had even checked if his wife had voluntarily let him into her flat or if he’d taken her by surprise or even forced an entrance. And that was how Alexander Dühnfort managed to sow doubt about the intent behind the crime and then present it as a crime committed in the heat of the moment. That evening, it became clear to Konstantin that his father was looking not for truth and justice but for fame and profit instead.
Shortly thereafter, Konstantin quit his law studies and signed up to study public administration. His father was furious and stopped supporting him. Konstantin moved out and got a part-time job to pay for his room in a shared flat. After graduation, he started working for Hamburg CID.
He was on the right side. He wanted to ensure that evidence stood up in court and that criminals received just punishment. He wanted to prevent defence lawyers like his father from creating doubt about the defendant’s guilt by using sloppy investigative work to bend the truth. He wanted to make sure that justice remained on track. He was known for his meticulousness. But he was also afraid that one day he would find himself on a case that would see him being questioned in court by his own father. So he took the opportunity to move to Munich.
What a coward, Dühnfort thought and drank the last sip of wine. In truth, he wasn’t looking forward to going to Hamburg next week for his father’s birthday party. It was quite possible that Maas would be among the guests and then he’d have to shake hands with a murderer. Dühnfort went into the kitchen, emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass and went back to the balcony. It was already d
ark. The wine had gone to his head. An entire bottle: it was certainly not healthy, but if he had to grow old alone, he could afford to sacrifice a couple of years. In which case he would indulge in the other pleasures that remained available to him. He laughed at the thought. Five minutes later, he was asleep. Shortly after two, he woke up, frozen to the bone. He went inside, closed the balcony door and glanced at his phone display. No calls. Then he slipped under the covers.
Sunday, 11th May
Agnes dragged herself out of the water and let herself drop onto a carpet of dry leaves and young grass. Panting, she watched her legs tremble.
It felt like summer that day, so she’d skipped her bike ride and swam across to the family bathing area on the other side of the lake instead. When she got there, she didn’t stop and warm up but immediately turned round. It was a mistake. Her muscles cooled down and swimming back was tough and exhausting. In the middle of the lake, Agnes ran out of strength entirely. Suddenly, an idea came into her mind. Let yourself drop, just let go, slowly sink, slide back into the cool green water and watch the sunlight sparkle on the waves while your body slowly descends into another world and then close your eyes and finally find some peace in the darkness; oblivion. The last hundred metres were agonising. With her last bit of energy, she reached the shore.
Grateful, Agnes felt the warming sun on her skin. After a while, she picked up her towel, rubbed her body dry and walked the short distance home, where she slipped into warm clothes and decided to laze around for the rest of the day until her jog.
Yesterday, she had found a hammock in the garden shed and tied it between two trees. Now she let herself collapse into it, closed her eyes and listened to the beating of her heart as it slowly came to rest.
This is no longer normal, she thought. Every morning a bike ride, every evening a jog and now I’ve also started swimming. I’m well on my way to becoming an endorphin junkie.
Car tyres crunched down the gravel drive and then the engine stopped. Agnes was too exhausted to open her eyes. A car door slammed, then the garden gate squeaked. She heard steps on the path.
‘Hello, sister.’
Agnes opened one eye. It really was Michael.
‘As I live and breathe, are you resting? What happened, did your bike tyres run out of air or did you?’
‘A bit of exercise wouldn’t hurt you either, you know.’ Agnes squirmed out of the hammock.
‘I work hard to maintain my weight,’ Michael said and ran his hand across his round belly. ‘That’s why I brought strawberry cake and whipped cream with me.’ Chuckling, he held up his other hand with the cake box. ‘I’ll make coffee. You lie back down and let yourself be spoiled.’
‘Wonderful. This is precisely the service I need right now,’ she murmured. She let herself drop back into the hammock and closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she could hear dishes rattling in the kitchen.
Agnes loved her older brother. She admired his determination and unwavering self-confidence as much as his warmth. As a software developer for an international company, he led the nomadic life that he’d dreamed of as a student. He was a sought-after expert on data compression. For the past few days, he’d been leading a workshop in London.
She must have fallen asleep because she was awoken by the smell of coffee. When she opened her eyes, Michael was standing next to the hammock with a mug in his hand.
‘Cake is served, milady. If you would just follow me.’ With a slight bow, he offered her his arm.
‘Silly boy.’ Agnes laughed and linked arms with him. On the terrace beneath the sunshade, the table was set. She hadn’t eaten anything but a granola bar all day. She hungrily gobbled down a piece of cake.
‘Have you even eaten anything today?’ Michael asked, concerned. ‘You’re digging in like a coalminer after his shift.’
Melli’s arrival saved Agnes from having to reply. She came round the corner of the house hand in hand with a plump giant, then turned onto the terrace. It could only be Franz. He walked alongside her, taking huge strides.
‘Hi, Agnes. Are we disturbing you? We’ll be on our way in a moment. I just wanted to give you this.’ Melli pulled a handmade envelope out of her bag.
Agnes noticed Franz looking at the strawberry cake and invited the two of them to sit down. Michael got the dishes while Franz brought another two chairs over to the table. Soon after, the cake was gone. Michael swept the last crumbs together with his hand and pushed them into his mouth.
Agnes picked up the envelope and pulled out a narrow folded card with embossed gold lettering. A wedding invitation. Sure, Melli had made a few brief visits over the past few days, to drink tea and report the latest news on the search for Jakob, but you didn’t invite just anyone to your wedding. Agnes was touched. ‘Thanks, you two. I’d be happy to come.’ She looked at the date. ‘Next Saturday!’
‘Hopefully,’ Melli said, tugging at her earlobe.
‘Let’s see what happens with Jakob,’ Franz explained. ‘So if . . . Well . . . It could be that he still hasn’t been found by then.’ He looked at his large hands. ‘Then we would postpone the wedding.’
‘Or, if . . .’ Melli said softly, but she did not say out loud what she feared. ‘Then we certainly couldn’t celebrate.’ Her voice was thin and cracked. ‘Stupid of me to talk drivel like this.’ She looked up. ‘There’s going to be a prayer service this evening. Will you come?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ Michael said. Apparently, he hadn’t heard any German news in London. Agnes explained everything to him.
‘Oh, little sister. I’m sorry. Not a very good fresh start for you.’ Michael put his hand over hers.
She couldn’t bear sympathy. She picked up the empty coffeepot and disappeared into the kitchen. Melli came inside while she was still busy making the coffee.
‘Your brother has a Harley,’ she said. ‘Franz rides a BMW. The two bikers have found each other.’ She leaned against a cupboard. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked after a while.
Presumably, she was asking because of Michael’s remark.
‘Yes, of course.’
Melli sat on the wide windowsill and let her legs dangle. ‘Is that your daughter in the photo in the living room?’ she finally asked.
Agnes nodded.
‘And the man in the picture?’
She’d known that Melli would bring up the picture sooner or later, since Agnes had told her off for looking at it. She didn’t want to talk about it, but there was no other option. ‘He was her father. They are both dead.’
‘Oh.’ Melli’s hands fluttered directionlessly in the air for a moment before settling on the windowsill.
The photo had been destroyed. Agnes had tried to save it with solvent, but only managed to dissolve the surface of the photographic paper in the process. Now she had only her memories, but they were fading. Time would cloud them with thin layers of change and forgetting and eventually they would elude her entirely. I should never have let that damn police officer into the house, she thought bitterly.
Soon Melli would want to know what had happened to Rainer and Yvonne. Agnes hurriedly changed the subject. ‘Your Franz seems nice. What does he do?’
‘He’s a car mechanic. He finished his training last month and next year he can take over the business from his father.’ There was pride in Melli’s voice. ‘And what did your husband do?’
‘He was a computer scientist. He had his own company.’ Agnes watched as Melli pushed coffee grinds back and forth on the worktop. ‘Was it an accident?’ she finally asked.
Agnes nodded.
Melli looked up. ‘That must be terrible. You love someone, marry them, plan your shared future together and everything seems to be perfect, and then . . .’
Agnes fiddled with the coffee filter and looked out of the window.
‘How did it happen?’
Agnes blanched. The coffee filter nearly overflowed. She quickly stopped pouring and put the kettle down on
the worktop. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. You understand.’
‘Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
Agnes liked Melli, even though she clearly didn’t have much tact. Maybe I’m too sensitive, she thought. She couldn’t bear the crushing silence that filled the room and said the first thing that came to mind.
‘Have you known each other a long time?’
Melli looked up and smiled. ‘I’ve known Franz since primary school. He first proposed to me when we were three and he first kissed me on my tenth birthday. Such a wet smack on the lips. Yuck. It still makes me cringe to think about it,’ she said, laughing and pretending to shudder.
She seemed incapable of being anything less than cheerful for longer than a couple of minutes. Maybe that was what Agnes liked about her. She was so uncomplicated.
Agnes’s relationship with Rainer had not been nearly so straightforward. She had met him during her last term, when she was working on her final thesis. It was a spring evening and she was sitting with her mother in the kitchen when Michael came in with a fellow student and introduced him. Rainer Gaudera. Rainer smiled at Agnes. His brown eyes beamed from his happy face, but what caught her eye was the melancholy chiselled into the corners of his mouth. This contradiction immediately drew her in. And that’s how it began, thirteen years ago. Or rather, how it didn’t begin.
Agnes opened the drawer, took out a rubber band and tied her hair back into a ponytail.
‘I fell in love with Rainer at first sight. But it took him longer. Almost three years.’ Agnes waited for the inevitable wave of despair that always took hold of her when she talked about Rainer or Yvonne. But it did not come.
‘Why was that?’ Melli promptly asked.
‘Rainer was very popular with women and had also been with a lot,’ Agnes said. ‘I used to be podgy and Rainer was downright stunning, in addition to being charming and having a successful career. He could have had any woman.’ Agnes felt the same pride that she’d had throughout her relationship with Rainer. He’d chosen her. Of all people.