As soon as we had taken our places in the car and fastened our safety belts, we wound the side windows down because the heat inside the car generated by continuous solar radiation far exceeded the limits of what was tolerable.
Heinrich chauffeured us to the inn of his choice without occasioning my partner any further discomfort.
The parking lot was choked with cars. Whew, said my partner, it’s a popular place. Since two more cars had pulled up behind us and their occupants were getting out, we hurried to the terrace of the inn for fear of losing a vacant table to people who had gotten there after us. There were no free tables at all, however. Eva suggested going in search of another inn. Heinrich swore that his hunger had attained an intensity that precluded another change of location, so we sat down inside the restaurant. My partner expressed her satisfaction that the windows, at least, were open, which created a pleasant through draft.
A loud, monotonous voice was issuing from an adjacent room. Heinrich went to investigate. Returning, he reported that the pope was on television. He was delivering his Urbi et Orbi while the occupants of the next room slurped their food and crossed themselves.
After we had ordered (four clear soups with strips of pancake, beef goulash for Heinrich, grilled Swiss for Eva, veal escalope with cream for my partner, and egg dumplings for me, plus four mixed salads with pumpkinseed oil), my partner confessed to feeling uneasy about the thought of returning to the Stubenrauchs’ house after the meal; the circle the deputy mayor had drawn had made her nervous. Heinrich: Didn’t she realize that, if the killer was suspected of being there, the place would be swarming with police?
Eva endorsed this view; she also felt uneasy, she said, but we could rely on the forces of law and order.
During the meal, Eva skillfully contrived to speak of general topics (our jobs, our next vacation, visits to the dentist, a Spanish course at the adult education center), and the conversation that developed was lively and varied. It was 12:31 when Eva finished her meal — the last of us to do so. Heinrich mooted the possibility of ordering a dessert.
Before we could debate this question, something out of the ordinary occurred in the adjoining room. A commotion broke out. The waitresses stopped work and everyone crowded next door. Heinrich had just stood up for a better look when a loud, agitated voice suddenly rang out. Accompanied by the flap-flap-flap of a helicopter, it was clearly issuing from a television set. Heinrich beckoned and called to us to come at once. In company with the last people to leave their tables, we streamed into the room next door, which was now jam-packed.
Straight ahead, standing on top of a tall closet, was a big television set of approximately fifteen years’ vintage. It was showing a view of some countryside taken from a helicopter (the sound and speed of travel made it unlikely that it was an ordinary airplane). People in the room were calling out place names they recognized. In a voice breaking with emotion, the reporter stated that the red VW Golf now being pursued by police cars belonged to a man suspected of being the camera killer, who was trying to evade arrest. “Perhaps, ladies and gentlemen, we shall very soon witness the capture of the world’s vilest criminal — let us hope so. The whole country, nay, half of the world, is behind the brave men in uniform who are even now risking their lives at 100 mph on this road in West Styria.”
Everyone in the room was yelling wildly: “They’ve nabbed the swine,” “The bastard’s going to be caught,” “String him up,” etc. The reporter referred to a roadblock that came into view soon afterward.
This is incredible, Heinrich shouted, just look.
And my partner pinched me on the arm.
A man beside me — someone I’d never seen before — turned to me and said they ought to shoot the camera killer on the spot, not let him get out of the car. A few bullets through the driver’s door and he would have had it. Self-defense — something had glinted inside the car and they’d thought it was a gun. Bang-bang — simple as that. He toasted me with his beer mug.
The fugitive’s car came to a stop with squad cars behind and beside it. Uproar in the room. One or two more thoughtful souls called for quiet.
The policemen jumped out of their cars and aimed their weapons at the figure seated in the sedan. After a while, the man got out with his hands up. Just as he was being handcuffed, the camera zoomed in as close as possible to the scene of the action. We could almost distinguish the man’s features. The angry yelling in the inn reached its climax. After some minutes’ noisy expressions of satisfaction, the helicopter reporter could be heard once more.
A little while later, a police chief appeared on the screen. He was asked by jostling, shoving journalists if that was the murderer. Had he been caught? The police chief replied that the young man was only one suspect among several. He had rendered himself exceptionally suspicious by dropping out of sight on the night of Holy Thursday, and the police had finally run him to earth at a remote country inn. All further questions would be answered at a press conference scheduled for 3:00 p.m.
At that moment, the proprietress turned off the television and called to everyone to go on with their meals. This injunction was greeted with universal hilarity. The crowd gradually dispersed.
As my partner and I slowly returned to our table, step by step, we were engaged in conversation by total strangers. Was he from around here? Had he murdered more than once? Shouldn’t he have been killed on the spot? Would we take part in the referendum? And so on.
Back at the table, Heinrich said it was great. Yesterday they’d televised the service in St. Stephen’s Cathedral, but today they’d cut off the pope in mid-benediction. The seculars had obviously won the power struggle at Austrian Broadcasting.
Eva cast her eyes up to heaven. She said she was very happy at the outcome of this business and trusted that all future conversations and their guests’ last day (i.e., tomorrow) would be unspoiled by the subject of murder. My partner fervently agreed.
Heinrich, extracting a toothpick from its wrapper, which bore the printed inscription Holz-Berger, said he wasn’t sure they’d gotten the right man. Eva rolled her eyes again and told him to stop it; he would find out soon enough.
Heinrich grinned and asked my partner if she was now prepared to be the first to enter the Stubenrauchs’ house, possibly even on her own, and check it for the presence of some stranger who might be equipped with a video camera. Eva vigorously reprimanded him. It was time he stopped these silly games, she said; the matter was settled. Heinrich gleefully apologized. My partner brushed this aside. She wasn’t going to drive herself insane anymore and was quite prepared to enter the house on her own. Grinning, Heinrich told me in an undertone, but loudly enough for the others to hear, that the threat of the camera killer might have been dispelled, but there was still the maddened farmer roaming the countryside with his rifle and firing at anything that moved. This remark was greeted with amusement.
My partner asked for the check and I got out my wallet. The proprietress took the money in person. While doing so, she struck up a conversation about the captured murderer. It was awful, she said; they had just announced that he was a twenty-four-year-old from the locality — the cook had heard it on the radio in the kitchen. Heinrich asked if there was any doubt about the young man’s guilt. The proprietress shrugged her shoulders, which were swathed in a black silk shawl adorned with a floral pattern, and said they wouldn’t have arrested him otherwise.