John Brady - Poachers Road

“We’ll talk about that, Karl. That’s important.”

“What are we going to do?”

“Everything will be taken care of, Karl. There are procedures.”

Felix watched Gebhart get Karl Himmelfarb started on his walk back. He waited then, and when Himmelfarb turned after a few metres, Gebi had some words for him. There was a lot of head nodding and a bunch of soothing gestures with his hands.

“I’m lucky, am I?” said Felix when Gebhart made his way back up.

“Are you okay? Do you need to, well, you know?”

“Nothing left. Empty.”

“Ah you poor kid. No, I don’t mean lucky like horseshoes in your arsch. I mean experience. You’ll learn a lot from this.”

“Whether I like it or not.”

“Naturlich. It’s the way of the world. They don’t teach that at the Uni?”

Felix too began to look around at the trees and hills.

“What do we do now?” he asked after a while.

“Damned if I know. Never did a murder before.”

“There must be something.”

Gebhart turned back and gave him a quizzical, almost pitying look.

“We just secure the site. The Kripo can do the rest.”

“Like CSI?”

“You watch that crap too?”

“Only when it’s on.”

Gebhart eked out a thin smile.

“See? You’re beginning to get it. You’ll make it. Maybe you’ll bring me luck. I should blow my beer money on the Lotto soon as I get back to town.”

“That’s the kind of luck I prefer.”

Gebhart sighed.

“You have a boy like Hansi?”

Gebhart nodded.

“You know Himmelfarb from that place?”

“It’s more that he knows me. Like a dummy I went there in uniform once after work. Well, straightaway I was a movie star.

There’s something about a uniform.”

“That’s why he phoned?”

“He didn’t know who to phone.”

“Social work, they call that, don’t they?”

“Call it what you want. Up here the Gendarmerie do a bit of everything.”

Felix shook his head. Gebhart said nothing further. He seemed to be listening for some sounds from far off. Then he took out his cigarettes, the Milde Sorte that everyone said they bought to try to cut down. He didn’t offer one to Felix. He needed only one flick of his lighter to get the cigarette going.

“So here we are,” Gebhart murmured after several moments.

“Up here in the arschloch of Styria. Excuse me the picturesque centre of Styria. And you’re on the job, what three months? You go for a walk with this fellow. Then, Jesus, you come back down to the farmhouse, with your face as white as a sheet with your news.”

“With puke on my shoes, don’t forget.”

Gebhart let his eyes wander to the hills behind Felix.

“Who cares,” he murmured.

“Can I ask you something?”

Gebhart blew out smoke and nodded.

“Did you set me up with that big lug, going for walkies, holding hands? So you could get a laugh?”

“You think I would do that to you?”

“I’m asking you. I heard stuff like that in training.”

“You want to know? I looked out the window and I thought: there’s a good day’s work being done. It was kind of nice, actually.”

“Nice?”

“You were trying to get the kid out and about again. That’s good.”

The voice on the walkie-talkie was very clear now.

“Whoa,” said Gebhart. “That was fast. They’re close.”

He waved Felix off using his walkie-talkie and began to give sparing directions.

Felix didn’t want to look back to where the bodies lay. The woods seemed to be blanketed with an extra quiet now. He heard birds only occasionally, and far off. The clouds must have come lower. Sure enough, the crest of one mountain to the south was cut off. That sick feeling had left him, as had the swarming thoughts, but he could hear his own pulse. He realized he was glad of the cigarette smoke around him. Maybe there was a smell coming from the bodies that he hadn’t noticed himself, but Gebi had. He watched as Gebhart smoked, and nodded, and said “yes” almost too often, his thumb stroking near the button on his walkie-talkie.

When Felix awoke, he heard Giuliana’s breathing. There was a faint lisp at the beginning of each breath in, and now he felt it on his shoulder. The room came out of the darkness, and brought the shapes he knew and expected, the corners and bulks, the lines, light and dark. Felix let his eyes run along them many times and he listened to her breathing. Well, he had slept awhile anyway.

He had to think a minute to remember the big-shot detective’s name from the Kriminaldienst: S not Schmidt. It had two syllables. It was a real Austrian name: Speckbauer. Horst? Yes Horst.

How hard could it be to come up with a normal Austrian name like this, he wondered. It wouldn’t be that hard, unless your brain was scrambled by hours of interviewing, plodding, talking, writing, remembering, sorting out.

Speckbauer was a heavily moustached Oberstleutnant with hair running to grey. The rest of him was running to fat under the expensive suit that Gebi whispered they liked to wear. “They”:

Speckbauer and others, one a detective Engel who stood around a lot of the time, saying little, taking lots of digital shots and using a minicam.

Gebi had said he’d seen Speckbauer before somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where. It certainly wasn’t on a visit to HQ down in Strassgangerstrasse, in a western suburb of Graz. It might have been a piece in the Gazette. He looked like a proper Bananenbiegers, Gebi had muttered. When Felix asked him later what exactly a banana bender was, or did, Gebhart only waved the question away.

Speckbauer had a quiet tone like he was attending a funeral.

Was there a weariness there, Felix had wondered, because he knew from long practice there were procedural questions he had to go through, but expected little from them? There were odd ones that Felix thought about afterwards: Did Hansi use any word except sleep? Can Hansi tell time? Did he make any other gestures? Did he point at places?

Felix had counted five police cars at one time, along with the wagon, and a big Mercedes commercial van that had two windows high up on one side. It was like a survey crew, with the markings and the tape and the screen they put up around the bodies. A generator had been started and flood lamps brought into the woods. Flashes went off every now and then. A movie set? A lot of guys in suits standing around, three one woman included in the white jumpsuits and hats, who later shed them (including, to Gebhart’s keen interest, the woman technician) like chrysalises at the back of the van.

Of course there had to be royalty from the Gendarmerie showing up. By two o’clock, it was Pommer, the Gendarmerie kommandant for the district, and his 2-I–C. He had called Gebhart Sepp and he had told Felix that he had done good work. The pat on the shoulder, the direct look, and tight smile had confused Felix. Gebi saved him with a cough: this was one of those rare times when a Gendarminspektor should salute, and do it parade-ground style.

Gendarmerie Kommandant Pommer returned the salute, much pleased, and perhaps even a bit surprised.

“Your father would be proud of you, Inspektor Kimmel.”

“He knows everyone, does Pommer,” he remembered Gebi telling him as the Gendarmerie Kommandant moved off.

“He knew my dad?”

“Everyone, I said. Now Pommer knows you. I’d better keep my eye on this Kimmel kid, I’ll bet he’s thinking. He’s no depp, is Professor Kimmel. At this rate, he’ll be Commissioner soon.”

He and Gebi had stayed until 5:30. He remembered being given soup, and bread, by Frau Himmelfarb, and eyeing Hansi holding hands with his father at the door out to the yard. Felix had stayed at the post to get his notes word-processed and filed into the database. Had to be done, Gebi had said, not without sighing a few curses. It was all too likely one or more of those detectives would go straight to GENDIS this evening for some detail or other. They worked whatever hours they had to, he’d explained.