Bernhard Aichner - Woman of the Dead - A Thriller

‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘If you don’t obey me, you’re finished.’

In bay two hundred and four, Blum switches the engine off. There are no CCTV cameras trained on this bay. It’s a blind spot. The ideal place to invite the pig-breeder to seal his own fate by entering her trap. Bertl Puch now stands behind the car looking doubtful. Blum can hear him breathing into his phone. The disgusting, oyster-slurping bastard is trying to think of a way out. For ten seconds nothing happens, there’s only the sound of his breathing. Bertl Puch is standing behind the car, wondering whether to run or attack. Blum can see and hear his desperation and fury. She doesn’t want her plan to fail, she doesn’t want him to run for it, so she decides not to wait a second longer. Blum turns the key and puts the car into reverse. You asked for it , she says, disconnecting the call.

The cook leaps aside, then tries to stop her. He doesn’t want her to drive away. He bangs on the windows with the palm of his hand. When he shouts stay , Blum engages the brake. She turns her head to look at him, a smile playing on her lips. Don’t be afraid. Just climb in. Trust me . It is a gracious smile, and he puts his phone on the roof of the car and raises his hands in the air. I’ll do what you want for now , those hands say. I want to know what happens next, what you’re planning. I want another chance. I’ll get an opportunity to kill you. That’s why I’m getting into your fucking coffin, you sick slut. That’s what his raised hands say, and his eyes and the twist of his mouth. She sees him stare through the window, put his phone on the roof of the Cadillac and open the boot. Like a lamb to the slaughter, Bertl Puch lies down in the coffin. Blum puts her forefinger to her lips just before she closes the lid. Not a word , she says as she screws it into place. There is no way he could get out of the coffin unaided. It is Blum’s best model, a massive walnut-wood box, a thing of beauty with a 2,500 euro price tag.

Blum drives away, leaving nothing behind. Bertl Puch has disappeared and no one but Blum will ever set eyes on him again. They’ll look for him, they’ll go through his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, but they won’t find him. No one has any idea that she knows him, no one will suspect Blum because no one knows the truth. No one knows the truth because no one wants to know that the death of the woman in the forensics lab wasn’t accidental. Only Blum knows what happened, she and the cook, the actor and the clown. Blum is on her own. My life insurance is in a safe-deposit box. A marksman has you in his sights . There is no police squad to back her up so she gave these words emphasis; she has seen this kind of thing on television, she has read it in books. It worked so well. She has intimidated him with what she knows. The reality scared him and he has cut off every escape route. Bertl Puch got into a coffin of his own free will. Bertl Puch is going to die.

It is afternoon and they are on the autobahn just outside Linz. For over an hour he has been hammering on the lid of the coffin with his fists. Blum listens to music; Freddie Mercury competes with the screams of Bertl Puch. ‘The Show Must Go On’. After a while, the TV chef realises that nothing he can do will make the car stop, that his shouting is pointless. By St Pölten only Freddie can be heard and Blum drives fast. She passes Linz. It’s only a hearse speeding along the autobahn, three and a half hours away from the Tyrol. Three and a half hours breathing in the stench of urine coming from the coffin. Enough time to remember Hagen and that woman.

Blum was ten years old. Hagen made her watch an old lady being prepared for her funeral. It was high summer and hot, and Blum was much too young. Hagen wouldn’t stop tormenting her. Brünhilde, you stay here. You’re going to watch what I do now. This is your vocation, Brünhilde. But I’m a child , she had pleaded. He began cutting the old woman’s clothes from her body. She was grossly fat, the most horrible thing Blum had ever seen. Hagen wouldn’t let her leave the room and so Blum cried. It had taken four people to haul the old woman out of the car and lower her by crane onto the preparation table. She was huge; an oversize mountain of flesh, her skin struggling to contain her fat. Blum was disgusted and wanted to run away from the smell. But Hagen took hold of Blum’s arm and held it firmly. Stay here, Brünhilde. Now you are going to learn how we deal with excrement. Blum stayed, and Hagen showed her what to do when a corpse’s intestines are still full.

The smell of urine overwhelmed Blum. The old woman had wet herself. Her skin stank, everything about her stank of piss and shit. It came flowing out of her anus, refusing to stop, the tampon Hagen had tried inserting was no match for the torrent. There was shit everywhere, on his white gloves, on the preparation table, on the old woman’s thighs. Hagen’s assistants held her legs in the air, while Hagen stitched the anus up. This is the only thing to do in a situation like this, Brünhilde. There’s no alternative. We have to stitch up her anus, Brünhilde. Shit, brown, stinking shit, kept flowing from the fat woman’s body. Blum wasn’t there to help, only to watch, and that made it even worse. On other days, when she had to lend a hand, she didn’t have time to think or feel revulsion. She had to concentrate on pushing the needle through skin and fat. Watching was worse, much worse. She remembers Hagen’s brown fingers swiftly stitching the anus of that fat, dead woman who had covered everything in shit. Those are the images that return every time she smells piss and shit.

Just after St Pölten, Bertl Puch lost control of his bowels in the walnut coffin. Now, she can smell his fear. Almost twenty-five years ago, Blum wanted to run away from that smell. It all began with that smell, and now it seems it’s going to end with that smell. Deep down, Blum knows she can’t go on like this. It’s as though her guardian angel has gone off duty. Heaven has turned again, and Blum is swaying. Last time everything came together seamlessly; this time everything is coming apart. Just before Salzburg she has to brake. She’s driving too fast. A policeman has been following her and makes her leave the autobahn and drive to a lay-by. A young plain-clothes man gestures for her to open her window, and instead of rolling it down, Blum turns the music up and gets out. It’s her only option. She quickly slams the car door behind her, trusting that the music inside will drown out the noise Puch is making. Because he has begun to shout again and kick the walls of the wooden box. She hopes Puch won’t be heard. Blum tries to smile and ignore the fact that the officer is an arsehole.

‘Your driving licence and the car’s papers.’

‘I guess I was over the speed limit?’

‘Ah, so you know you were driving too fast? That makes it a premeditated offence. You ignored the speed limit and thus deliberately endangered the lives of other motorists.’

‘I’m terribly sorry. My mind drifted.’

‘Did it now? Is that because you’ve been drinking?’

‘No … I just didn’t notice the speed limit. I was deep in thought.’

‘This will cost you a pretty penny. Your driving licence will be ready for collection in Salzburg in a month’s time.’

‘No … I mean, I can’t …’

‘I decide what you can and can’t do. You were almost fifty kph over the limit.’

‘I know, it’s unforgivable.’

‘This isn’t a question of forgiveness. You’ll have to call a vehicle to tow you the rest of your journey.’

‘Oh, please no – you can see what I’m transporting.’