No, I said, it was a faked photograph; the tree was authentic but not the boy.
Incredible, that tree, said the farmer. He knew the forest, it was a good place for picking mushrooms, he’d been there more than once but had never guessed that something so terrible would happen there someday — how could he? The killer must be found at all costs and made short work of. So saying, he turned and ambled back to his house.
Heinrich sat down at the table at last. Hurriedly, he poured himself a cup of coffee, then took a bite out of a dry roll and immersed himself in a newspaper. Wouldn’t he at least put some butter on it? Eva demanded. Heinrich merely grunted, said Hmm, and remained totally incommunicado.
She said he should restrain himself. He mustn’t forget that their guests hadn’t made the long journey to Styria just to watch television and read newspapers. This was a day for relaxation and amicable conversation, she said, so put the paper away.
Heinrich laughed and did as he was told, but he said he couldn’t detach himself from the tragedy completely. He had at least to keep abreast of events during the day or his curiosity would choke him. Eva and my partner rolled their eyes but conceded this, whereupon he jumped up and hurried into the house. She hadn’t meant it that way, Eva called after him, but he had disappeared.
Pretexting a visit to the bathroom, I likewise went inside, pursued by the women’s cries of disapproval. Heinrich, with a newspaper open on his knees, was seated in front of the television perusing the news. In a conspiratorial tone of voice, he said he was acquainted with a policeman who performed his duties in Frauenkirchen. He felt strongly tempted to call him, or even to pay him a visit; we might be able to glean some information that hadn’t been publicized by the newspapers or on television.
I reminded him that such a course of action would inevitably result in protests from the female members of our foursome. Shaking his head, Heinrich said they must be given some incentive for taking an equal interest in the progress of the case. When I inquired about the nature of this incentive, he replied in one word: Fear.
It would be reprehensible of us, he said with a grin, but we could at least inspire a certain uneasiness, for instance by reporting rumors that the killer was on the loose somewhere nearby; I need only remember the fuss they had made last night. No, he added, it really wasn’t necessary to scare our womenfolk stiff. If we were clever, we could use pure conjecture to persuade them not to put too much of a brake on our research.
We re-devoted ourselves to the news and the newspaper, respectively. The paper described the killer as an inhuman, bestial, camera-wielding devil, a criminal from another planet. His atrocities were the focus of every columnist and commentator. Even a picture of the victims’ mother had been printed. The article informed us that this photograph was considered scandalous. The photographer had sneaked into the Am Feldhof psychiatric institute disguised as a nurse and photographed the murdered boys’ mother, who was strapped to a bed and internally suffused with medication. According to the article, the chairman of the Press Council and the leader of the Liberal Party had stated that this conflicted with their ethical principles.
After Heinrich and I had read each other some interesting excerpts from various newspaper columns, we went outside again. The women greeted us with sullen faces and reproachful expressions. Heinrich ignored them.
Excitedly, he announced that the killer had been identified but the police were still unwilling to reveal who he was. Did that mean they had caught him? Eva demanded. Heinrich said no, but they thought they knew roughly where he was — namely, in this area. He had been sighted on Rössel Road between Frauenkirchen and Kaibing.
My partner agitatedly inquired the source of this information. Heinrich said we had heard it on the radio. My partner sprang to her feet, as did Eva, and hurried into the house. She turned on the radio and asked which station had broadcast the news. Austria 2, the local Styrian station, Heinrich replied. My partner tuned the radio on, but in order to receive the station she had to change frequencies. This aroused her suspicions.
Heinrich hastened to reassure her; in search of further information, he had gone looking for another station. Then my partner found Austria 2. Blaring folk music could be heard. Startled, she turned the sound down. Eva had joined us by now.
Heinrich urged the two of them not to be concerned — nor to make such a spectacle of themselves as they had last night after the din in the loft. My partner irritably retorted that they hadn’t made a spectacle of themselves and that the camera killer’s potential proximity genuinely alarmed her. Heinrich replied that the killer had every reason to be more frightened of us and everyone else than we were of him. Yes, Eva added, and it was broad daylight now too.
So no one need be frightened, said Heinrich, and a good thing too.
Eva said she must nip over to the farmer to fetch some milk fresh from the cow. My partner volunteered to accompany her, saying that it was a long time since she’d seen such a thing. Eva said she wouldn’t actually be milking the cow — the milk came from a churn — but my partner insisted that this, combined with the smell of stables, would give her equal pleasure.
Once the two of them had left the house, Heinrich beckoned to me and hurried into the living room. He wanted to watch the end of the video, he said; he was feeling full of beans and less squeamish today, and he hoped the killer would soon be caught. So saying, he turned on the television and the video recorder.
3:59. The cameraman was interviewing the hog-tied brother about the emotions that had beset him since his brother’s death. When he received no satisfactory answers, he reminded the boy that he could have saved his brother’s life. Tears were the sole response.
The cameraman then told him that he at least had an opportunity to save his mother from being boiled alive and his father from being dismembered. He, the cameraman, would shut his eyes and count to a hundred. It was up to the boy whether he remained where he was or ran off. If he stayed, he would be put to death in the most painless manner possible and his entire family, grandmother included, would be spared. If he ran away, he would be pursued. If the cameraman failed to catch him at once or within the next few hours, he would pay the family a visit on October 31st and Halloween them all to death. The police would be powerless to help. If he caught the boy at once, however, he would kill him after salting his abdominal cavity, making a necktie out of his tongue, and scrambling his innards from behind, etc. He would also murder one other member of the family — either mother, father, or grandmother — with the aid of various implements such as pliers and scissors, etc., but spare the rest and leave the choice of the victim to the boy. He was telling him this to give him a chance to come to his senses; in the event that he ran away, he could turn around and at least save two members of his family.
Heinrich said he’d never encountered such a person in his life, and he regretted not being one of the policemen actively involved in hunting for the killer; he would gladly exchange a few words with the fellow.
The cameraman said he would now start counting. Cut. 4:09. The camera panned across the whole terrain. Not a child in sight anywhere.
The presenter reappeared on screen. She urgently advised viewers to use the TV station’s psychological counseling service. Telephone numbers were screened.
Heinrich switched off. Now we know, he said. He hoped the women would soon be back with the milk; he wanted to drive to Frauenkirchen and try to make contact with his acquaintance in the police.