Thomas Glavinic: The Camera Killer

About to add something, he was interrupted by the entrance of the farmer’s wife. She said a brief hello, then breathlessly informed her husband that the mayor had called to say he couldn’t get through.

The mayor? said the farmer.

Yes, she replied, Hans Fleck.

He called? said the farmer.

Yes, she replied, he can’t get through.

Get through where? asked the farmer.

By car, she replied.

Heinrich intervened. Had the mayor really called and what exactly had he said? The farmer’s wife replied that he had called to say he’d meant to drive to Farmer Kienreich’s, which was only a third of a mile from here, but a police roadblock had held him up — him, the mayor. The whole area was cordoned off. The murderer was being sought here. Even the mayor himself had been prevented from driving on. He had called to tell the farmer to lock his door, and everyone in the area should do likewise. It was outrageous that nothing had been said on the radio.

Frozen-faced, my partner demanded that we leave at once by car. She had no wish to stay here, she said. Before I could reply, Heinrich told her she was being absurd. In the first place, a single individual posed very little threat to the persons assembled here. Secondly, she ought to ask herself if she wouldn’t have to summon up even more courage to drive along deserted roads under potential threat from the camera killer. And thirdly, she mustn’t leave him and Eva all on their own. This he said with a smile. My partner sighed and rolled her eyes.

Heinrich urged us all to remain calm. The farmer and his wife should go home and endeavor to obtain more information, for instance by calling acquaintances nearby. After a while, in half an hour or so, our two groups would meet again, either here or next door, to exchange news. He didn’t care where this council of war took place, but if their neighbors came here, he could offer them a glass of the excellent apricot brandy he and Eva had recently been given. The farmer pronounced himself in full agreement and promised to return with his wife after making a few phone calls.

When the couple had left, Heinrich locked the front door and picked up the phone.

My partner was seated in her armchair, pale-faced. She said she felt terribly nervous and didn’t even dare to go over to the window, for if she suddenly caught sight of a stranger on the road, she would very probably have a heart attack. Furthermore, she thoroughly disapproved of Heinrich telephoning outside in the hall. In the event of a surprise attack by the camera killer, who might be intending to take hostages and film them or escape with their assistance, we should all stay close together for mutual support.

Eva strove to calm her down. She pointed out that Heinrich was only some twenty feet away and drew attention to her husband’s immense physical strength. The camera killer would be well advised to give the house a wide berth, she said. At all events, she herself wasn’t frightened. And now she was going to the kitchen to brew some coffee. She was expecting guests. Someone in this madhouse had to keep a sense of perspective, and that was clearly her own allotted role.

When Eva got to her feet, my partner caught hold of her. She wanted everyone to stay together, she said.

Eva: Very well, why not simply come too?

My partner agreed on the condition that I accompany her. I did as I was bidden.

As we made our way along the hall in single file, Heinrich, who had evidently overheard our conversation, tapped his forehead and laughed. We heard him explaining the situation on the phone and asking someone for information about police movements.

In the kitchen, Eva filled a kettle with water and urged my partner to sit down. My partner refused on the grounds that, theoretically, just theoretically, someone seated at the table would make an easier target. She preferred to stand up against the wall, she said. Eva went over to my partner, put her arms around her, and argued that no such danger impended.

My partner said she had a nasty feeling, a sinister presentiment. Eva insisted that the camera killer hadn’t become notorious for his use of firearms; all he had done was threaten some little children with a knife, and knives didn’t fly through closed windows. Eva’s remarks were sporadically punctuated or accompanied by exclamations from Heinrich that threatened to neutralize their soothing effect, so she shut the door to the hall.

No, please don’t, cried my partner, only to laugh at herself a moment later — an activity (laughter) in which Eva joined. Visibly summoning up all her willpower, my partner sat down at the table.

Eva pointed out that she had a good view of the neighbors’ house and its front door from there; perhaps that would reassure her somewhat. My partner shrugged her shoulders, smiling forlornly.

We listened as the sound of boiling water increased in volume. Then the kettle emitted a whistle. Just as Eva removed it from the stove and poured its contents onto the coffee powder in the pot, Heinrich came in brandishing the map. The situation was all very exciting and becoming steadily more so, he said. Had we listened to the radio?

Eva said no. My partner begged Heinrich not to keep her on tenterhooks.

He announced that he had unashamedly called various people he’d spoken to only two or three times at most, having had to look up their numbers in the telephone directory. In view of the prevailing emergency, however, it had been easy to talk with them. Everyone was eager to exchange views with other people, and many phone numbers were engaged; the camera killer was clearly generating a lot of business for the post office this afternoon.

If he didn’t come out with it at once, said my partner, she would go mad.

Heinrich laughed. To cut a long story short, he said, it seemed we were surrounded.

What? my partner cried.

He repeated that there was some evidence that we, or the area in which the Stubenrauchs’ residence happened to be situated, had been encircled. My partner requested him to quickly give us a brief but more detailed explanation. Heinrich sat down, spread out the map on the table, and picked up a pen. According to his information, he said, police were stationed here (he made a mark) and were advancing (he drew an arrow) in this direction. They were also here, here, and here. At every “here,” he made another mark on the map. The marks formed a circle, which he joined up with the ballpoint. What was more, said Eva, the circle was getting smaller.

Resting the elbow of her right arm on Heinrich’s shoulder, she remarked that the police really did seem to be looking for the killer nearby.

It gets even more interesting, said Heinrich. His telephone calls had been extremely illuminating. Wild rumors were circulating. A garage mechanic’s wife with whom he had spoken claimed to have definitely heard shots in the woods adjoining her property. Other people had indirectly confirmed this by asserting that the murderer was being hunted in the Lechnerwald, a wooded area thirty or forty acres in extent and known by the name of its owner, a Herr Lechner.

Someone else had also testified to hearing shots. Against this, the story of the shots had been consigned to the realm of fantasy by a restaurateur whose gastronomic establishment was situated only a hundred yards from the garage mechanic’s house. He did not, however, hesitate to concede that he was hard of hearing; moreover, he had been busy tasting wine in the cellar and might have been distracted thereby.

Summing up, Heinrich said that the modus operandi adopted by the police made an uncoordinated and ill-considered impression — unless, of course, they knew precisely where the killer was. If he were definitely in a cordoned-off patch of forest (e.g., the aforementioned Lechnerwald), their initiative was to be welcomed, but if the authorities merely surmised him to be somewhere inside the circle on the map, the devil was in the details.