The Bone Man

by Wolf Haas

  Usually soccer practice is good for that, but, in the game against Oberwart, Franz pulled the ligaments in his left knee. Now he just types all day—and no practice at night.

  I’m only telling you this so that you might have a slightly better understanding of why Franz Tecka hopped out of the ambulance and rushed the Porsche like a madman and tore open the door.

  Instead of screaming his head off, though, he was completely quiet. And maybe that was what Franz Tecka’s father always meant when he talked about felling trees. At the last moment before a tree falls over, total silence. Tecka was that quiet now—you could even hear the soft smack of his jaw when it dropped in surprise.

  Because sitting in the Porsche was not Porsche Pauli, who’d just made the phone call. And whose face he wanted to scream into that it was strictly forbidden to drive behind an emergency vehicle, and where’d he get his driver’s license—a lottery? No, seated behind the blood-smeared steering wheel was the man with the hacked-off finger, who Paul had told him about on the phone. And Franz Tecka was wondering right about now, why was I driving like the devil from Radkersburg to St. Martin when the injured man was right behind me?

  Needless to say, colossal misunderstanding. In a few words, Brenner explained to Tecka that he didn’t call the ambulance for himself but for the half-starved man in Manufacturer Marko’s farmhouse. But, naturally, the farmhouse was locked, and Brenner told Tecka he should kindly break into it.

  But Tecka’s crew member, Paramedic Laireiter, was protesting now. Laireiter was actually the boss of the two of them, and quite correctly, he said, “Breaking down doors is out of the question. We’re not permitted to. It’d make us look bad legally.”

  “Would you prefer to let the man inside starve?” Brenner shouted.

  “How do you even know someone’s in there?” Laireiter said.

  Brenner could tell right away that there was nothing to be done about Laireiter. With a stickler like him you could argue till the Second Coming. And on top of it all, Brenner felt like he couldn’t hold out much longer. Because, unbelievable, how much blood you can lose over a pinky finger. That’s why he turned back to Tecka now, “If you kick in the door right now, you can save a man’s life.”

  But Laireiter immediately poked his nose back in: “We have to get the police. And then, the police will get the fire department. And the fire department will break down the door.”

  But Brenner paid Laireiter no heed. He could tell that Tecka was itching to kick in a door, because his right foot was healthy, and in this day and age, the opportunity to break down a door just doesn’t come along every day.

  “And if Marko turns himself in to me?” Tecka says.

  “Marko can’t turn himself in to you, because he’s dead.”

  “Who’s inside, then?”

  “You’re about to find out. But if you don’t do it fast, it’ll be a dead body that you find.”

  This was the day that Kindergarten Teacher Edith was startled awake at 4:44. Even though she usually slept especially well when she spent the night at Palfinger’s. But when she saw all the fours lit up on the clock radio, she thought: so many fours, and I was probably only dreaming that a grenade just went off in front of the house.

  That was no grenade, though, just Franz Tecka’s foot, which, with a single kick, blew open the wooden door to Marko’s farmhouse.

  Then, what else? Into the farmhouse, Brenner first, and Tecka behind him, and then, after heavy protest, Paramedic Laireiter. But no injured person in the kitchen, nor in the bedroom or the bathroom, and not upstairs, either.

  “This is going to be awkward,” Laireiter kept saying, half-gloating, half-worried. “This is going to be awkward. You’re going to be waiting a pretty long time before you make rank.”

  “To hell with it,” Tecka said, because he was supposed to earn the second point of his blue star on his uniform this summer, but it didn’t matter one bit to him now. Because kicking down doors was a feeling that no Star of Life can give you. But a person like Laireiter will never understand something like this.

  And now Brenner comes over to Tecka and says, “I can’t find the key to the basement door.”

  A moment later, Tecka had the basement door kicked down.

  And it was in the basement that they found him. Nothing but bones, and no sound coming from him, either. Tecka bent down and took his arm. Tecka’s thumb was almost as thick as Jacky’s forearm. It wouldn’t have surprised Brenner if there’d been a third crack, and Jacky’s arm snapped right in the plump hand of the Red Cross.

  But Brenner wasn’t being fair to Tecka. Because, maybe a brute otherwise, but when it came to taking a pulse, he was delicacy par excellence. And he felt very carefully now for whether there was anything still stirring in Jacky.

  And then, there was another crash after all. And Brenner was surprised that Laireiter was now suddenly making himself important again, by talking in an insistent tone of voice to the unconscious man.

  Brenner didn’t understand, though, that the unconscious man wasn’t Jacky. And how was he supposed to understand. After all, he was the one who, in the next few minutes while under Laireiter’s care, would nearly die.

  CHAPTER 13

  When Brenner returned to consciousness, he thought only two minutes had passed. And not two weeks, during which time his finger had grown back quite nicely. But, no wonder, he thought he was still in Marko’s basement.

  “First you save my life, and then you leave me to die of boredom.” Brenner had no sooner opened his eyes than Jacky started in from his neighboring bed.

  Because Jacky was doing magnificently again. They’d already fattened him up, two whole kilos, all of it by infusion, of course, but as of yesterday, he was even able to help himself to a little bit of mashed potatoes.

  Brenner tried to say something, but his mouth still felt a little strange, and involuntarily he thought of Milovanovic, how they had to put a silver plate in his head after Ortovic crushed his face.

  When he saw the thick bandage around his pinky finger, everything came back to him—and the memory of it nearly drove him back into a coma. No dice, though, stayed right where he was, because Jacky had been waiting for this moment for days: “You don’t need to worry about your finger. They have a specialist here in Graz, Dr. Schneider. He could even sew your head back on if he had to.”

  “Then Ortovic must be doing better, too,” is the first thing that Brenner said after more than ten days of unconsciousness. Jacky actually got goosebumps when, slow and wobbly, his lifesaver squeezed out this remark. Like the heavyweight boxer who always danced so elegantly in the ring that no opponent could catch him. But then Parkinson did catch him. He was no boxer, but this disease where you can’t stop with the elegant dancing.

  And difficulty speaking’s typical with Parkinson’s, too, which is why a person might seem a little crazy, but mentally they’re completely there. And Brenner was a little tired in the mouth now, too, but mentally, almost quicker than usual: “Who did the police arrest?”

  “Old man Löschenkohl’s facing all four murder charges: his daughter-in-law, Ortovic, Baumann—”

  “Baumann?”

  “He was the first. I saw it with my own eyes how he recruited the soldiers.”

  “It must have reminded the old man of when he was a boy in the war.”

  “Exactly. And then Marko, that son of a bitch.”

  “Marko never came back to let you out.”

  “I don’t feel sorry for him. He did business with Baumann, too.”

  “Where do you know all this from?”

  “Says so in the newspaper.”

  “And what about Milovanovic?”

  “Get a load of this, he lives with Jurasic now. All of them under one roof, the Yugos.”

  One thing that’s really interesting. When you’ve been lying in a coma for a long time, then you don’t wake up everywhere at the same time. No, one thing at a time. And almost every part of Brenner was awake now, but h
is morale—still in a bit of a coma. Because he couldn’t have cared less whether they’d actually picked up Milovanovic and Jurasic. Only thing he was interested in was whether Kaspar Krennek had gotten wise to them, in other words, ambition reawakened: “Are the police content with just old man Löschenkohl?”

  At that moment, though, Jacky thought Brenner was still halfway in a coma and talking garbled nonsense. And then the doctors stormed in, and in the days that followed, so much happened that Jacky completely forgot what Brenner had said just then.

  Horvath came to visit them once. He wanted to give the art another go now, because normal life had gotten to be too abnormal for him. And Paul Löschenkohl visited them once, too. He wanted to give the Grill another try.

  Needless to say, difficult, because his father had in fact turned many of his regulars into unwitting cannibals. Great outrage from the people, of course. Three I know personally, they even became vegetarians: a woman from St. Anna, then the elementary school teacher in Klöch, and then a carpenter from Gnieberg. But going without meat made him so agitated that it only lasted a week.

  And that was what Löschenkohl junior had been hoping for, too. People forget quickly. Hunger returns, and if you offer them a good price, then they won’t stay away for long.

  “I freely admit I can’t be as cheap as my father.”

  “How is your father?”

  “Not too bad,” Paul said. “He’s treated decently in prison and is allowed to help in the kitchen a bit. The butcher block I gave to Horvath,” Paul said, changing the subject. Because he didn’t want to talk about his father anymore now. He was still as transformed as he’d been that night when he’d prevented his father from breading and frying Brenner. Really not an unlikable person, got to admit. Brenner could almost understand how the shoe seller’s sister might’ve married him.

  As Paul was about to be on his way, Brenner quickly added, “You saved my life.”

  “Mine, too.”

  And somehow Paul wasn’t completely wrong about that. My wish for him, anyway, is that he’ll be able to manage with the Grill, because then he would have a job, and a person needs a job these days, any job, especially when he’s as unstable as Löschenkohl junior.

  There are also situations, though, where it’s better for you not to have a job. Where you need nothing but rest and more rest. For instance, because your finger just got chopped off and sewn back on again.

  But Brenner wasn’t getting very far with resting. Someone was constantly wanting to know something about something, and needless to say, Kaspar Krennek didn’t wait very long, either. He brought Brenner some of those good Belgian pralines, and within a minute of his arrival, he’d said three times: “I can’t begrudge you any congratulations.” It goes without saying, you only say a thing like that when envy is practically tearing you apart.

  Kaspar Krennek didn’t mention Milovanovic again. He was only interested in how Brenner could have known that Jacky was in Marko’s basement. Needless to say, embarrassing situation for Jacky now. He looked over nervously at Brenner to see whether he was going to let the truth slip. That Jacky was Horvath’s drug dealer and that he’d blackmailed Marko. But then, a great relief when Brenner said:

  “When I was in the freezer, I saw that the daughter-in-law was there, Ortovic was there, Marko was there—but Jacky wasn’t there. And I knew from Horvath that Jacky had recognized him for who he was. Marko had gone there to try to silence Horvath. But that only made sense if he’d silenced Jacky first.”

  “You’ve got this Super Brain here to thank for your life,” Kaspar Krennek said, giving Jacky a bit of a pained smile.

  “It’s really not all that much of an achievement,” Brenner said, refusing to concede.

  “Because you can’t forget: my life was completely done for there in the freezer. I was missing a finger, and the blood was shooting out of my finger-stump like a jet of water. I don’t know if you’ve ever experienced anything like this, but it’s a powerful shock. And it was only because of the shock-power that I figured it out, not because of any normal power.”

  Kaspar Krennek was getting a little fidgety now, because Brenner was trying to outdo him even at modesty. “Well, anyway, once again, I don’t begrudge you any congratulations,” he said in farewell.

  Once Kaspar Krennek was out the door, Brenner and Jacky didn’t waste any time in opening up the Belgian pralines. But Brenner nearly came unstuck with the very first one. Because it was now of all times that Jacky remembered what Brenner had said the day he woke up.

  “Why was it, exactly, that the moment you woke up, you asked about Milovanovic?”

  Brenner gagged on his white chocolate snail for a second before it slid down his gullet whole.

  “And what exactly was Milovanovic looking for at Jurasic’s?”

  “The Yugos all know each other,” Brenner said, smacking his lips.

  “But why did you ask about Milo the moment you came to?”

  “What are you, a toddler who just learned how to ask a question?”

  “What exactly did you find out from Milovanovic and Jurasic?”

  You can’t escape your roommate in a hospital, though, and Brenner thought, why shouldn’t I tell him? Jacky’s been through enough as it is.

  “I’ll tell you,” Brenner said. But then he sucked on his Belgian chocolate snail for several minutes until it was completely gone before he finally got to talking.

  “Pay attention. Ortovic was the striker who, back in Yugoslavia, bashed in Goalie Milovanovic’s face. And that was no oversight, no, family matter. Because Milovanovic had a little sister: Jurasic, Helene. Jurasic, because when she was eighteen she got married—nineteen, gets divorced, keeps the name. Then she starts running around with Ortovic. He’s got a terrible reputation, so now her brother’s got something against the relationship. Ortovic responds in his own way.”

  Brenner helped himself to another Belgian praline and sucked on it till it was completely gone before going on with the story.

  “Then, it wasn’t long before Ortovic had Helene out in the street banking for him, and her brother’s still trying to get her away from him somehow. Dangerous history, though—not necessarily mafia, but, well, a human life isn’t worth much in these circles. When Ortovic goes to Austria with Helene, her brother follows. Because FC Klöch could never afford a goalie that good, silver plate or no silver plate. Doesn’t quite add up, though, when he’s playing for two thousand schillings flat.

  Another Belgian praline now. But even more than the white chocolate, Brenner enjoyed Jacky’s impatience.

  “These days if a person doesn’t know your language, you automatically think that he’s a little slow. Milovanovic, though—anything but slow. He found the bones long before the health inspectors did. And he had a suspicion, too, whose bones they were. The exact same suspicion that Löschenkohl’s daughter-in-law had later on. Because for the people in-house, it wasn’t as difficult to figure out as for an outsider. He didn’t tell the police about his suspicion, though. He told his sister about his suspicion. Helene Jurasic.”

  “Can’t you suck and talk at the same time?” Jacky asked, annoyed, when Brenner paused again to reach for another praline. But it was no use, people in hospitals get a little strange, and Brenner was going to enjoy his praline in his own sweet time before he continued with his story.

  “When Helene found out, needless to say, she became afraid of old man Löschenkohl and disappeared with the money to Vienna. Because Helene wasn’t stupid. Of course, she never told Ortovic about the kind of outrageous sums she swallowed. The whole thing about the money-eating she withheld from him. All Ortovic knew was that Löschenkohl was a perverse customer who left Helene with a lot of money.”

  “Perverse is good.”

  “Naturally, though, Ortovic wasn’t about to let himself get shaken off. He followed Helene and tried to force her back out onto the track. But Helene gave him a much better idea. She set Ortovic up to believe he could get all of
Löschenkohl’s money in one fell swoop. As gag money. She didn’t tell Ortovic anything more than that. Just gag money.”

  “And Ortovic thought: gag money for the perverse stuff. But Löschenkohl understood: gag money for Baumann’s bones. Basically a misunderstanding!” Jacky laughed.

  “Because while Ortovic was on his way down there, Milovanovic called Löschenkohl and pretended to be Ortovic. And explicitly demanded the gag money for Baumann.”

  “Then, Löschenkohl had to silence Ortovic.”

  The Belgian pralines were all gone now, and Brenner wasn’t feeling so well.

  “But why would Jurasic and Milovanovic tell you?”

  “They didn’t even tell me half of it. But the other half’s in the newspaper: old man Löschenkohl’s testimony that Ortovic called him and threatened him about Baumann. Even though Ortovic couldn’t have even known. All you have to do is put two and two together.”

  “But why didn’t you tell the police?” Jacky asked. Although, secretly, he was glad, because he and Milo had always gotten along well. On the other hand, the two siblings serving up Ortovic ice-cold like that to old man Löschenkohl—not exactly cricket, either.

  “Krennek didn’t even ask me about it,” Brenner said. And in the silence that followed, he thought to himself, a bit arrogantly: one has to have a proper command of the method for sounding someone out. It’s simply not enough to just not ask follow-up questions. Because, let’s face it: compared to Kaspar Krennek, who was too refined in his questioning, even Jacky with his blunt questions came out ahead.

  But it wasn’t Jacky’s questions that irritated Brenner the most, not by a long shot. Most irritating was definitely the head doctor, Frau Dr. Plasser. Because she worked on another floor, but she was obviously trying to reconcile with Jacky now.

  Brenner found her visits so obtrusive that he pretended to be asleep. And I have to say, I’m certainly no prude, but that a head doctor would do something like that with a patient when someone’s lying in the next bed over, it’s just not right.