Bernhard Schlink - Self’s Murder

At the other end of the park headlights appeared. A big car stopped and two men got out. They opened the back doors and helped a boy and a girl get out. They walked toward us and we walked toward them. There was silence, except for our steps on the gravel.

When we were twenty meters away I said to Samarin: “Tell them to stop and send the children to us.”

He barked some orders in Russian. The men stopped and said something to the boy and the girl that sounded like “Go on!” The children came toward us.

“I guess that’s that,” I said.

Samarin nodded and walked toward his men. He reached them and they exchanged a few words, then began to walk toward Werderstrasse. The children asked what was happening and where their father was, but Philipp growled at them to keep quiet and hurry. When we got to the entrance of the park we looked back. We looked back at the very moment it happened.

We didn’t see where the shot came from; we only heard it. After the first shot there was immediately a second one. We saw Samarin collapse and his two companions crouch down to assist him, or to shield themselves, or both. I thought Oh God! and heard the silence in the park and the echo of the shots in my head, and then mayhem broke loose. Samarin’s men got up and, still firing shots, ran toward their car, jumped in, and were gone.

Before I could even formulate the thought Get the children in the car, one of us with them! they were running off, shouting, “Dad!”

Welker had come out from behind the bushes at the other end of the park. He came toward them and hugged them. Philipp ran over to Samarin. When I got there, out of breath, Philipp straightened up. “He’s dead.”

“Where’s Nägelsbach?”

Philipp looked around. “Where’s Nägelsbach!” he shouted at Welker.

Welker pointed to the bushes at the end of the path. “That’s where he…”

Then we saw him. He came toward us, dragging his feet, his hand pressed to his side.

“You idiot!” Philipp said to Welker. I had never seen him so furious. “Quick, Gerhard! We’ve got to get him to the car.”

We ran over to Nägelsbach, propped him up, and slowly, step-by-step, made our way to the car.

Welker followed us. “What should I-”

“Wait for the police to come!”

The lights went on in some of the houses.

We managed to get Nägelsbach to the car, to the hospital, and into the operating room. Within two hours Philipp had removed the bullet and sewn him up. He sat down next to me, took off his scrub cap and mask, and grinned at me brightly. “I’ve got something for you.”

I took the bullet. “The police will want that,” I said.

“No, this is the one the police will be wanting.” He was holding another bullet between his thumb and index finger.

I looked at him nonplussed.

“He must have caught a shot years ago, and I guess it would have been too dangerous back then to remove the bullet. But the old bullet wandered and ended up not far from the new one.” He looked around. “Have the police been here yet?”

I shook my head.

“It was Welker who shot Samarin, wasn’t it?”

“It seems Samarin had a gun, which Welker had taken from him,” I said. “Did Welker pay Samarin a visit in the storeroom?”

“Perhaps while you were asleep,” Philipp said. “He didn’t tell us he was going, and I didn’t keep an eye out. Wouldn’t Samarin have noticed Welker coming in? Wouldn’t he have said something?”

“I’m sure he noticed. But as for saying something… No, it wouldn’t have been his style to tell us that Welker had taken his gun away.”

“Everything was going so well until that idiot-”

“Are you talking about me?” Welker said, suddenly appearing in front of us. “You didn’t see what happened. Gregor and his men were whispering among themselves, then they reached for their weapons, and just at the moment when-”

“That’s nonsense! Samarin was in a straitjacket-he could hardly have attacked anyone! And why didn’t you aim at his men? Why shoot him in the back?” Philipp asked.

“I…” Welker fought back his tears. “I realized it wasn’t going to work. Samarin had lost the battle, but not the war. I knew he’d stay on my case, and then I’d be back at square one.” The tears he was fighting back were tears of anger. “Damn it, don’t you see? That man was terrorizing me, month after month! He had my bank under his thumb, he murdered my wife, he threatened my children! No, I’m not sorry for what I did! I’m at my wit’s end, but I’m not sorry!”

“What did the police say?”

“I didn’t wait for them.”

“You just up and left?”

He sat down next to us. “I found a taxi at the Collini-Center and got the children out of there. It had been a day from hell for them. I wasn’t about to expose them to the ordeal of the investigation.” He laid his hand on my arm. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you were serious about the police. It’s not my field-I know nothing about legal matters. Was everything we did kosher? What you and your friends did? How’s the policeman, by the way?”

“He’ll be back on his feet soon enough.”

“Particularly in his case I was wondering what the consequences might be. Retired police officer runs amok-won’t there be a disciplinary hearing? Loss of pension? I didn’t want to bear that responsibility on my own, which is why I’m bringing all this up. I don’t know if we can take the initiative together without consulting him. When do you think we could talk to him?”

“In a few days,” Philipp said, shaking his head. “You don’t seriously think we can stay out of all this. There are four of us, and then there are Füruzan, her colleague the night nurse, and Frau Nägelsbach who are in the know-not to mention that someone might have seen our car, or seen Gerhard and me with Nägelsbach when he was wounded. As for Samarin working in your bank, the police will find that out in no time at all. What will you tell them?”

“The truth. That he was involved with the Russian Mafia, that he tried to use my bank for his money-laundering schemes, that he has a number of deaths on his conscience, and that things ended up spinning out of control for him.”

Philipp had called Frau Nägelsbach after operating on her husband. Now she was standing before us, eyeing us. “Who shot my husband?”

“Samarin’s men.”

“Why?”

“Samarin was shot.”

“By whom?”

“We’ve just been weighing what we can and should contribute to the police investigation,” Welker said, looking at Frau Nägelsbach entreatingly. “And if your husband would be pleased if the police… and the public…”

She read in his face that he was the one who had shot Samarin. She looked at him and shook her head.

“Take me to my husband,” she said to Philipp. “I want to be with him when he wakes up.”

They left. Welker stayed. “I’ll wait for your friend. I want Nägelsbach to have whatever he needs-the best of everything, whatever the expense. You must believe me: I am terribly sorry he was shot.” He looked at me as if he really were terribly sorry.

I nodded.

Outside the hospital I hoped to find a taxi at the stand. But it was still too early in the morning.

A man came up to me. At first I didn’t recognize him. It was Karl-Heinz Ulbrich. “Come along, I’ll drive you home.”

I was too sick and too tired to turn his offer down. He took me to his car-no longer a beige Fiesta, but a light green Polo. He opened the door for me and I got in. The streets were empty, but he didn’t exceed the speed limit.

“You don’t look too good.”