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

by Inge Löhnig

  He picked up the phone, hung up again and left his office. One floor down, he knocked on Meo’s door and went in. Meo was sitting in the poorly lit room at a long table in front of the computers from the print shop and Prohacek’s house. The light of the monitors seemed ghostly and made Meo look even paler.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ he said and grinned at Dühnfort. ‘Voilà!’ He made a sweeping hand gesture. ‘There’s the treasure.’ Dühnfort looked at the monitor Meo was pointing to and read the already familiar words of the ransom note.

  ‘Great,’ Dühnfort said. ‘This case is slowly coming together.’ He thanked him and went back up to the third floor. He bumped into Gina in the corridor.

  ‘Dr Hilprant is here now,’ she said and gestured to a gaunt old man sitting on a bench outside the interrogation room.

  ‘Thanks.’ Dühnfort nodded to Gina and then went over to Hilprant. The man stood up. He only reached Dühnfort’s chest. His head drooped down between his bony shoulders and he was bald except for a crown of sparse white hair. Dühnfort thought he could see the skull bones through his thin skin, which was crisscrossed with fine blue veins. Hilprant was wearing an expensive-looking grey suit, a white shirt and a silk tie.

  His watery blue eyes looked up at Dühnfort over a pair of frameless glasses. ‘Hilprant,’ he said. ‘Let’s see to it that we clear up this misunderstanding quickly.’

  Dühnfort invited him into his office and offered him a seat. Hilprant sat down. ‘You have temporarily detained my client for kidnapping and extortion. That is completely absurd. What evidence do you have for this accusation?’

  Dühnfort silently handed Dr Hilprant copies of the deposit slips and account statements. He watched as Hilprant looked through the documents and shook his head ever so slightly. ‘Our IT specialist also found the ransom note on Prohacek’s computer,’ Dühnfort added.

  ‘It’s not possible,’ Dr Hilprant said, ‘to be that wrong about someone.’ He took off his glasses and his face suddenly looked naked and vulnerable. ‘I’ve known Junior since he was a child. He’s a nice boy who has never done anyone any harm. An honest and totally decent man. The sort of person who would never kidnap someone.’

  That nice boy is now nearly fifty and is responsible for a company that’s on the verge of ruin, Dühnfort thought. The sort of desperate situation that drove people to crime. Hilprant should know that. But until Dühnfort had all the evidence, he didn’t want to share with Hilprant that he thought his client was only piggybacking on someone else’s kidnapping. ‘The evidence is against him. You should advise him to confess,’ he said.

  ‘I would like to talk to him privately,’ Hilprant responded. ‘Would you be so kind as to take me to him?’

  Dühnfort accompanied Hilprant to the interrogation room where Prohacek was waiting. His wife was sitting in front of him, a reserved-looking woman in her mid-thirties who reminded Dühnfort of Grace Kelly. Her husband looked as if he was already in his mid-forties, with a receding hairline. A mismatched couple.

  Hilprant greeted his client’s wife. ‘Don’t worry, Vera, I’m sure this is a misunderstanding.’ He gave her a fatherly hug.

  ‘You want to question Mrs Prohacek as a witness?’ Hilprant asked, but it sounded more like a statement.

  Dühnfort confirmed that he did.

  ‘Would you like my assistance, Vera?’ Vera Prohacek nodded. ‘Good. I’ll talk to Karl first and then we’ll discuss this. My client will not be available to you before that,’ Hilprant said, looking at Dühnfort.

  Twenty minutes later, Hilprant appeared in Dühnfort’s office. The lawyer looked pale and tired. ‘My client is making use of his right to remain silent,’ he said and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. ‘And, as his wife, Mrs Prohacek can refuse to testify. She would like to do that.’

  ‘Why did you advise him to do that?’ Dühnfort asked. ‘The evidence is strong. A confession would be a mitigating circumstance.’

  ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Mr Dühnfort,’ Hilprant said. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Money that my client doesn’t want to discuss has flowed into the company. He doesn’t have to incriminate himself. You have to prove where the money came from. He assured me that it has nothing to do with the ransom. Anyone with access to the print shop could have written that letter. I assume you will not be repealing the provisional arrest.’ This was also a statement and not a question. Hilprant put his glasses back on and said goodbye.

  Shit, Dühnfort thought. Well then, it’ll just have to be done another way. On Monday, he would send Gina and Alois out with Prohacek’s photo. Seventeen banks, that would mean half a day, but then they would be able to pin down Prohacek. Someone would identify him as the person who’d made the deposits. Dühnfort considered whether he should assign Kölle and co. to Mrs Prohacek, but first he called Buchholz. He reached him in the print shop. They were nearly finished with Prohacek’s house and had secured plenty of fingerprints to be analysed but had found nothing else of interest. Buchholz and his team would be finished with the company premises in the morning. There were a number of auxiliary buildings there, sheds and garages, which still hadn’t been searched. No sign of the remaining money had emerged as of yet. Dühnfort made another phone call and organised surveillance for Mrs Prohacek. Then he packed up.

  When he glanced at his mobile, he saw that he had a message. He listened to it. His father wanted him to call him back. He was sitting with Julius and Victoria at Jus, waiting for him. They wanted to get going with his birthday celebrations. Dühnfort looked at the clock. Twenty past eight. His father’s voice had sounded so happy and lively. He felt like such an arse. He hesitated a moment before calling. But he had to go through with it.

  ‘Hello, Tino, where are you? We’re already on the appetiser,’ his father answered cheerfully. In the background, Dühnfort could hear quiet voices, soft music and the clattering of dishes.

  ‘I’m still in Munich. I’m sorry, I can’t get away. We’re on the verge of solving a case.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ his father said and Dühnfort heard Julius in the background saying, ‘So, Tino’s not coming, I thought as much.’

  ‘ “The Miracle of Mariaseeon”?’ his father asked. ‘That’s your case, right?’

  Dühnfort was taken aback. ‘Yes. How did you know about that?’

  ‘From time to time I buy the Munich papers and see what you’re up to.’

  Saturday, 17th May

  Melli looked beautiful. She was wearing a sheath dress with a bolero jacket made of cream-coloured silk and her wild hair had been tamed into a neat style for the day’s festivities. But it wasn’t just how she looked on the outside: Melli was happy and that gave her an intangible beauty.

  More than a hundred guests filled the glasshouses of the old nursery that Melli’s parents had rented for the wedding. Orange and lemon trees created a southern ambiance. Countless terracotta pots were planted with pink and white flowers, the colours of the bridal bouquet. There were blinds to ensure the temperature inside the glasshouses was comfortable. In the space between the greenhouses, there was a courtyard where they had constructed a dance floor and set out tables and chairs. The band was setting up for the bridal waltz.

  Agnes was full and placed the spoon back into the nearly full dessert bowl.

  ‘You can’t finish it?’ Michael asked and grabbed the rest of her dessert when she nodded. They could hear music coming from the glasshouses. The bridal waltz had begun.

  Michael scraped the bowl clean and then dragged Agnes out of her seat. ‘Come on, little sister, let’s dance.’ Before she could protest, he had pulled her onto the dance floor. He led confidently and after a few bars Agnes began enjoying the waltz. When it was over, Michael led her back to one of the tables. ‘I’m going to quickly run to the little boys’ room.’

  Agnes sat down and saw Anselm coming towards the table. He offered to get her a drink and then disappeared back into the crowd. Next, Gabi and J
akob discovered Agnes and sat with her at the table.

  ‘We danced the waltz, Jakob and I,’ Gabi said, out of breath. ‘Unfortunately, my husband generally refuses to dance. As soon as the music begins, he runs away.’

  Anselm came back and placed a tray of glasses on the table. Jakob slid off his chair and climbed onto Agnes’s lap. Gabi was not pleased. ‘He’s crumpling your dress.’ But Agnes made it clear she didn’t mind. It was nice to have a child on her lap.

  ‘I got a selection when I saw you walking over to the table,’ Anselm said, passing glasses round. ‘Prosecco, orange juice and sparkling water. And a Coke for Jakob. He’s allowed, right?’

  Jakob hesitated. But when his mother nodded, he took the glass. Michael came back. Agnes introduced him to Gabi, Jakob and Anselm. Within two minutes, the conversation had turned to ‘the Angel of Mariaseeon’. It made Agnes uncomfortable and she managed to change the subject with a question about the motorbike trip Michael and Franz were planning. It turned out that the two of them wanted to set off as soon as the coming weekend.

  ‘Will you put me up next Friday, dear sister?’ Michael asked. ‘We want to leave really early.’

  ‘Of course. Bring your sleeping bag, as unfortunately I don’t have any guest beds in my house.’

  The band began to play again. Agnes followed Michael onto the dance floor. Taking only short breaks, she danced until her feet burned and they needed lanterns and torches to light the glasshouses. It seemed that all the men wanted to dance with an angel. Nearly all of them made some sort of clever remark. Only the priest, who whirled round the dance floor in a strange freestyle, refrained from saying anything about it. Jakob’s kidnapping and happy return was one of the topics of the wedding. Kallweit’s arrest was another. The news had landed in the village community like a bomb. The man who had been trusted by parents and students for over thirty years turned out to be a paedophile. Many didn’t want to believe it and were convinced that the print-shop owner Prohacek from the neighbouring village had kidnapped Jakob. His motive was somehow understandable, while Kallweit’s was unimaginable.

  Even the local physician Dr Till Wiessner, who’d been introduced to Agnes by Anselm, shared this opinion. She danced the foxtrot with him and was careful to keep her distance. He kept forgetting that the man was meant to begin with the left foot. He’d already stepped on her toes three times. With the excuse that she urgently needed a break, she left the dance floor. Wiessner accompanied her to a table and sat with her. Agnes took off her shoes and rubbed her battered toes.

  The doctor ran his hand over his bald head. He did not have a single hair on his shapely skull. He compensated for this deficit with a neatly groomed blond goatee. ‘Rub some buckeye ointment on your feet and keep them elevated overnight,’ he suggested. ‘Then they won’t swell.’ After a few more health tips, he landed on the subject of the new ambulance that Anselm had donated to the fire brigade. And with that, he had arrived at the topic that had apparently been weighing heavily on his mind. His friend Anselm. He was Wiessner’s backgammon partner. They had been friends since their schooldays and had graduated together. It was only when they went to university that their ways parted. Wiessner had gone to Heidelberg. He met his future wife there and had only returned to Mariaseeon a few years ago, to take over his father’s practice. The friendship with Anselm had been rekindled, but Anselm’s hermit-like existence worried Wiessner.

  ‘He spends too little time with other people. He just buries himself in his books. He should enjoy life more.’

  ‘Maybe that is his way of enjoying it,’ Agnes said. ‘There must be people for whom reading a good book and spending a quiet evening by themselves is pleasure enough.’

  ‘But not all the time. He’s growing lonely in his barn.’

  ‘But he has you as a friend and he has his family. He doesn’t give the impression of being lonely.’

  ‘Still, a little more socialising wouldn’t hurt,’ the doctor said and ran his hand across his head again. ‘He told me that you’re doing the layout for his book about Mariaseeon. And he mentioned how competent you are and how well you understood what he wanted. I got the impression that he likes you.’

  What? Agnes thought. The idea never crossed my mind and never will. Where is this conversation going? A very clear response was necessary. ‘Dr Wiessner, I’m sure you read the paper, and if not, you will surely have heard the village gossip. I assume you know all about me: I’m a widow. I lost my husband and my daughter –’

  ‘I thought that was over a year ago.’

  What did time have to do with it? For her it felt like yesterday. She didn’t have the strength to contemplate falling in love again, starting a relationship. It would feel like a betrayal.

  ‘If you want to do your friend a service, then let him lead his life and me mine. That’s hard enough as it is. I can’t play the guardian angel for all the lonely souls. Just to be clear.’

  Till Wiessner stared at her in shock for a moment. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. But I thought, after a year . . .’

  Agnes laughed. ‘Is there some new national directive that stipulates how long a person should grieve for?’

  The doctor looked at her. There was an expression in his grey eyes that Agnes recognised but couldn’t name. She suddenly felt intensely lonely. The lights, the people around her, everything faded into the distance. The delicate scents of the May night and the soft music evaporated and she was suddenly all alone in an empty black space. Mummy, but I want to! I want to, I want to, I want to! Yvonne’s voice pierced through time, through her desire to forget.

  Agnes stood up abruptly. She had to get out of there. She urgently needed to go for a run. Impossible. She couldn’t just leave Melli’s wedding. The band began to play rock ’n’ roll.

  ‘We’re not getting anywhere with this conversation. Let’s dance instead.’ She pulled the puzzled doctor off his feet and back onto the dance floor.

  An hour later, Agnes was happy to get some peace at last. She sat at a table that was a bit off to the side, from where she could watch all the action in the greenhouses. The band was taking a break and nearly all of the guests had gone inside. Agnes had completely worn herself out, which had helped to calm her mind. Dancing had replaced jogging. She seemed to be the only one left outside. She leaned her head back and looked up at the starry sky. People always told children that you could see the dead in the sky. If only she could believe that. But she had no illusions. Had she not cremated Rainer and Yvonne, they would have been eaten by worms by now. She hated herself for such thoughts.

  It had become cooler and a bit breezy. Agnes pushed her chair closer to the wall of the nearest building, to the side of the glasshouses. The brick structure had retained some of the day’s warmth, which now radiated from it. She leaned back and looked up at the sky again until she was startled by the sound of a woman giggling. A man spoke softly to her. ‘No one can see us. They’re all inside.’

  Agnes looked around but couldn’t spot anyone. They were probably on the gable side of the small building.

  ‘No, stop it.’ The girl giggled.

  ‘So, you don’t love me.’

  ‘Of course I love you, my little bear.’

  Then there was silence. Agnes assumed they’d left until she heard loud kissing.

  ‘No. We can’t. Not here, little bear.’

  ‘But why not? This is much more exciting than always just doing it in the hunting cabin.’

  ‘What if someone sees us? No. Stop it.’

  ‘But I want to. Here and now.’

  The sounds of their tussle got louder. Agnes was embarrassed. She quietly walked away and looked for a spot near the greenhouses. Melli ran across the courtyard. Agnes waved to her.

  ‘Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you. I’m sorry I’ve had so little time for you, but it’s been hard to break away from all the relatives.’ She sat down with Agnes and put her feet up on a chair. They chatted for a while about the wedd
ing and then Franz and Michael’s upcoming motorcycle trip.

  Agnes saw the couple cheerfully emerging from behind the building. An attractive thirty-year-old with pinned-up brown hair that now looked a bit dishevelled. The tight skirt that drew attention to her slender legs was wrinkled and her low-cut blouse no longer gave the impression of impeccable freshness. The woman saw Agnes looking at her and turned away quickly. Shortly afterwards, a man with gelled hair, an angular face and a carefully groomed beard followed. Agnes could see the toll that the last fifteen minutes had taken on his chic summer suit.

  ‘Who was that?’ she asked.

  ‘Anna, our hairdresser. She did a great job of styling mine. I didn’t think you could do anything with such short hair,’ Melli said and gestured to her head.

  ‘And the man?’

  ‘That’s Konrad.’

  ‘Are they –’

  ‘No,’ Melli said and leaned over towards Agnes.

  ‘They are both indeed married. But not to each other. The whole village knows, except their spouses, who seem not to have the slightest inkling. Which is probably how it always is. A friend of mine thinks that it’s criminally naive to assume that men can be faithful. But Franz definitely is,’ Melli said, ‘otherwise I wouldn’t have married him.’

  ‘Rainer would never have cheated on me,’ Agnes said. ‘He was quite conservative. Being faithful was important to him. He was afraid that I might cheat on him. Of course, that was entirely unfounded. He tried not to show it, but I sensed it anyway.’

  ‘How?’ Melli asked.

  Agnes shrugged. ‘Little things. Sometimes, when we we’d had a spat, he’d write me poems to make up. Even though he didn’t actually like poetry. But I have a soft spot for it. Harmony was important to him. Every Friday, he would come home with a bouquet of roses. Fridays were sacred. There were no appointments or business trips. The first spark between us happened on a Friday, he proposed on a Friday and we got married on a Friday. That was our day.’