Thomas Glavinic: The Camera Killer

I followed at Heinrich’s heels. In our loafers, which were not best suited to the weather conditions, and which squelched in the residual moisture left by the rainstorm, we made our way across country in the direction of our improvised badminton court. Heinrich opined that, in his estimation, that was where we could expect to encounter the nearest police unit.

It was chilly, and we both found we were dressed too lightly. This we endeavored to offset by striding out more briskly. While we were forging our way uphill through bushes and tall grass, Heinrich said he felt very tempted to play a practical joke on our return. He owned a video camera, he said. Armed with this, he proposed to appear at the kitchen window and, without revealing his identity, film the interior.

However, he doubted it would be desirable to put this idea into effect. In the first place, there was a risk that some more sensitive soul (e.g., my partner) might be genuinely traumatized. A schoolboy prank was one thing, but he had no wish to be responsible for inducing a heart attack. Secondly, it wasn’t beyond the bounds of possibility that the farmer would lose his head and make use of his firearm. Both of those eventualities had to be precluded, and he supposed that was impracticable. I agreed with him.

After climbing the hill, we looked around us in a 360-degree arc. There wasn’t a soul to be seen, just a pheasant crowing and fluttering in a cornfield. Heinrich pointed to a patch of forest a half mile from our own location. That was the Lechnerwald, he said; to the best of his knowledge, the police were in there.

We debated what to do. After all, we couldn’t dismiss the possibility that we might strike the police as suspicious and get into trouble. Heinrich indicated a spot not far away: the end of a row of leafy trees that led to the vicinity of the forest. If we reached that row of trees, he said, we might be able to get to the forest and, thus, to the policemen concealed within it.

I queried the necessity for these precautionary measures. After all, I said, we intended to speak with the police. Heinrich said he had completely abandoned that idea. There was no point in talking to them; they would not divulge any information to us, in any case. He thought it sufficient to locate them and deduce where they were headed and what they were up to.

I objected that this would not enable us to bring my partner the detailed information she had requested. Heinrich said he already had an idea and would think of something. I pronounced myself satisfied with this.

When we reached the row of trees, Heinrich told me to keep low. We crouched down behind a tree. From there, on a road some five hundred to six hundred yards away, we saw a police car. Where’s it going? said Heinrich. Is it heading for our place? Let’s see whether it turns off.

The car really was heading for the vicinity of the Stubenrauchs’ residence. Instead of turning right, however, as it would have had to in order to get there, it drove straight on along the main road. From one point of view, said Heinrich, he regretted this because a visit from the guardians of the law would certainly have relieved the strain on my partner’s nerves; on the other hand, a full explanation of the situation would rob it of its excitement.

He was feeling a little as he had when playing cops and robbers in his childhood. Don’t laugh at me, he said, raising his voice because another helicopter — not the one we had sighted earlier — was flying past at low altitude approximately a hundred yards from us.

We made our way toward the Lechnerwald. Before we reached it, Heinrich turned to me and put a finger to his lips. We tiptoed on. Soon we heard dogs barking and, shortly thereafter, voices.

What if he waited for the policemen here, Heinrich whispered, standing with his legs apart and a video camera aimed at their advancing figures? That would give them a shock. He laughed as he said this.

Pausing behind a tree with a massive trunk, we peered in the direction from which the voices were coming. Soon afterward, we caught sight of several policemen with dogs on leashes.

Damnation, said Heinrich, they’re heading this way — let’s go.

I followed him back to the end of the row of trees. There he said he wanted to go reconnoitering elsewhere.

Hurriedly, we set off to the west. We had not gone far when we made out some figures in open country around a mile away. Heinrich definitely identified them as policemen. Now we knew the score, he said; either the forces of law and order were a bunch of bunglers, or the man with cinematic ambitions was hiding in the trigger-happy farmer’s loft, and he considered the former alternative more likely.

He suggested we retrace our steps, notify the others, and turn on the television. I agreed, so we walked swiftly back to the Stubenrauchs’ house. Around a quarter of a mile before we got there, Heinrich started calling the farmer’s name lest he take fright or yield to the temptation to try out his skill as a marksman. The man waved to us when we reached the farmyard. All he had seen, he said, was two helicopters.

Heinrich told him that we had sighted a number of policemen and that it was probable we would soon be receiving visitors. Good, said the farmer; he had no wish to hang around there forever. Loudly calling out that it was us, Heinrich and I went into the house.

Eva was just replacing the telephone receiver. The phone had never stopped ringing, she said. Her mother had sent her regards and advised us all to drive to her place at once; she had been listening to the radio and watching television and was terribly alarmed. Other callers, people from the neighborhood, had asserted that the killer was in the immediate vicinity of the Stubenrauch residence. Heinrich said we would soon know or could watch ourselves on television.

He went into the living room and turned on the television. The same channel as before was still showing aerial views of the district. Policemen could be seen. The commentator was inaudible over the noise of the helicopter.

Without turning off the television, Heinrich and I went into the kitchen and poured ourselves some lemonade. White as a sheet, my partner begged us to enlighten her. What had we managed to elicit and how did things stand?

Contrary to expectation, said Heinrich, we’d had no opportunity to speak with the police but had sighted a whole host of them. My partner had no need to worry, he told her; they were obviously on their way here, so she would soon be able to speak with them herself. It genuinely seemed either that the authorities were on the wrong track or that the camera killer was very close at hand.

My partner sprang to her feet. Why don’t they evacuate us? she cried. Why don’t they evacuate us? Exerting considerable vocal power, she demanded that we get into our cars and leave at once. Her lips trembled and she burst into tears.

On seeing how desperate she was, we stated our willingness to do as she wished. The farmer’s wife said she might leave too. On the other hand, she realized that her husband would never give way. She knew him of old; he was as stubborn as a mule, and she suspected him of planning to detain the murderer on his own initiative or put him out of action with a bullet. She would also prefer him to leave for fear of some mishap, etc., but it was no use. Heinrich and Eva said that if their neighbors were staying, we couldn’t leave either.

Convince him, cried my partner, convince him.

Heinrich went outside and conveyed her request to the farmer. Through the window, we saw the latter make a dismissive gesture, point to his house, and brandish his gun. My partner dashed outside with us at her heels. She planted herself in front of the farmer and shouted at him. The loudness of her voice was doubtless dictated by agitation, but also by the proximity of the helicopters, which were making a prodigious, incessant din.