Part One complete!

Chapter Seven

Chief Inspector Schafer’s office was not how Karl had envisioned it.

Warm and inviting, its soft chairs and carpeted floor put it in stark contrast to the harsh, busy hall only a few feet outside. A large desk dominated the room, piled high with papers and folders. A tall bookshelf lined the opposite wall, and from Karl’s brief glance as he walked in, it contained a number of psychology, philosophy and historical texts. The only thing missing was a roaring fire.

“Please, sit down,” Schafer said, extending his hand towards what was almost an armchair. Karl obliged, sinking deep into it. Was Schafer trying to lull him into thinking he could relax? If anything, the whole set-up was putting him more on edge. The Inspector sat behind his desk, and shuffled some papers off into a pile, making space for an obviously well-thumbed file that he opened up and flicked through.

He was a tall man – Karl guessed he must be pushing seven feet – and thin. His face was taut, with his thinning hair shaved short, which had the effect of making his ears stick out. Trying to perch on the end of the soft chair, Karl watched the inspector’s long, skinny fingers flick deftly over the pages. 

Faust hadn’t joined them. At his boss’s request he had stayed on the floor – how happy he’d been about that, Karl wasn’t sure.

Schafer finally found the page he was after. He spread it out over his desk, then jerked his head back as he tried to focus on the writing. He reached down to his side and opened a small drawer. He pulled out a small case and snapped it open, then unfolded an expensive-looking pair of glasses. He cleared his throat as he slipped them on, before peering down at the file in front of him. Finally he looked up at Karl, and smiled warmly.

“Now, Mr Gabriel,” he said, “let me first begin by saying how sorry I am for your loss.”

His words caught Karl by surprise. After his display back in the hall, this was not the man he had been expecting.

“I must apologise for my men,” Schafer continued, “it’s been a long, long investigation, and I fear some of them are perhaps overeager to wrap it all up. I’m sure you understand.”

Karl grunted.

Running his finger down the page, Schafer tapped at a line of text. “I must say, your resurrection took us all by surprise.”

“Well, it caught me a little off-guard myself.”

“Yes, so I can see.” Schafer peered at Karl over his glasses. “You know what I have to ask.”

Karl shifted in his seat. “I didn’t kill my family.”

Schafer studied him for a moment. “Innocent men don’t run, Mr Gabriel. We told you not to leave the city.”

Karl looked away. “I wasn’t running. I was ... going home. I needed – need – to get home and see my family.” He paused. “I need to pay my respects.”

There was a beat, and then Schafer nodded, apparently satisfied. He flipped a page.

“So you wake up in hospital. No memory of where you’ve been for the past five years. Missing, presumed KIA. Wife and child massacred. Either you’re a member of the unluckiest family I’ve ever come across, or ...” He stopped mid-sentence, letting the words hang in the air, and interlinked his fingers. “Who are you, Mr Gabriel?”

“I ...” Karl struggled to find the words, and in the end settled for a shrug. “I’m just a farmer. I went to war, and when I came back, everything was ... everything was gone.” He sagged in his seat, sinking deeper into the soft cushion. His empty socket, which had gone from freezing streets to warm office, was aching fiercely. Trying not to think about it, he slid his finger under his patch, gently pushing his fingertip into the soft, sensitive hole, and rubbed it gingerly. A thought occurred to him, and he wondered if it was still possible to cry with no eye; would the tears just fill up inside the socket? He imagined lifting his patch and unleashing a tiny torrent of water, feeling it run down the side of his face. It was that moment he realised that he hadn’t cried at all, not even when he’d found out how they’d died. He thought of the times he’d fought it back, had felt it boil to the surface and threaten to explode, but each time he’d forced it back inside. Pushed it down, deep within him. How long would it stay buried, he wondered?

Schafer must have sensed his unhappiness, for he folded the paper file and pushed it to one side. Removing his glasses, he set them down and leaned forward. “Mr Gabriel,” he said softly, “although undoubtedly not on your level, I believe that each of us has experienced something ... life changing. Each and every one of us, we carry it inside, that moment in time when we were moved into a ... a higher state of being. Now, for some, it can be as simple as changing their job, or switching to a new type of deodorant.” Schafer leaned back in his chair, and it squeaked as it moved to accommodate him. “You find yourself missing time, missing years, from your life. The world that greeted you when you awoke was not the same as when you bid it goodnight, I would imagine. It is of no doubt – no doubt – to me that the loss of a man’s family, a loss in such a brutal and shocking way, would almost certainly have repercussions.” He paused, and a look of sadness passed over his face. “Repercussions that would create a change of incredible magnitude.”

Karl stared at him. The Inspector’s words swarmed over his head, and although he struggled to follow, one thing rang clear.

“You would imply that the discovery of my family’s death is what caused my memory loss,” he said slowly.

“I would suggest a possibility, yes,” Schafer agreed.

“Which means you don’t think I did it.”

Schafer stood up, and looked at Karl for a moment. When he spoke, he gave the impression he was choosing his words carefully.

“A man systematically murders each member of his family, one after the other,” he said, pressing his palms flat against his desk. “It horrifies me to imagine what a metamorphosis such a person must have underwent. Such a change that would cause ... I cannot bear to imagine.”

Karl felt his stomach churn slightly.

“Now,” Schafer said, “you are free to go. Back to your family, to your home.” When Karl looked up, he added, “For the time being, of course.”

Karl got to his feet wearily. His entire body was tired, and he tried not to think about climbing into his old bed and sleeping for a month straight. He felt more uncertain now than when he’d awoken, back in hospital. He nodded at the Inspector, their conversation – or more specifically, Schafer’s monologue – was still playing on a loop in his brain. He reminded Karl of a fox; there was something sly about the man, as though he couldn’t help but keep wanting to change your opinion of him. To Karl, this made him wary, and he found himself glad when they left his office and entered the wide, bright, cool hall, complete with ringing phones and yelling police officers.

Schafer clasped Karl on the back and led him towards the exit.

“If I were to tell you not to leave Hinterkaifeck, should I expect compliance this time?” Schafer watched him carefully as they descended the stairs. Karl gripped the railing tight and squinted hard, not wanting to fall he brought each foot down the steps.

“You have my word,” Karl said – and he meant it.

“Excellent,” Schafer said happily. “Then I have no doubt we will talk again soon.”

He held out his hand, and Karl shook it.

He had barely left the station when he heard the clatter of footsteps behind him. Turning, he was surprised to see Officer Faust bounding up, a little out of breath. Karl eyed him suspiciously.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

Faust nodded, and revealed a satchel slung over his shoulder. He opened it, and pointed to its contents. Karl peered in and saw folders and papers stacked neatly in a row. He looked at Faust inquisitively.

“It’s your case file,” the officer said, his breathing lightening.

Karl’s eye opened. “Won’t they miss that at the station?” he asked, but Faust shook his head.

“I joined your case just a few weeks ago,” he said, “and so I copied most of the information to take home. Caught up as best I could.”

“Not exactly bedtime reading.”

“Maybe not for a farmer.”

Karl snorted. “So what do I have to do to take that bag home with me?”

Faust pulled the strap tighter around his shoulder. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

“Like hell you are,” Karl growled.

“I’ve got holidays to take just as much as anyone else,” Faust said, “and I’ve barely gotten through a third of this stuff. We can go through it all together. Don’t you want to know what’s in here?”

Karl stared at him incredulously. “Are you mad?” he asked. “I’m a fucking suspect in this case, you can’t show me stuff like that. Schafer would...” He stopped, and narrowed his brow. “Schafer sent you, didn’t he.”

Faust was taken aback. “What? Of course he didn’t.”

“To keep an eye on me.”

“I swear, I’m only trying to help.”

“Fuck you.”

Karl started to walk away, but Faust grabbed his shoulder and spun him back. “You want to know why I’m here?” he said, and something in his eyes stopped Karl from knocking him back and leaving. “I’m here for the same reason I joined the police in the first place. For the truth.” Faust’s breathing was heavy, and his hands were clenched tight. “What you said in the car was true. The guys at the station? They want to close this case fast. It’s an embarrassment for them. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to beat a confession out of you.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Karl snarled.

“No you wouldn’t,” Faust said quietly. “Now you want to get to the bottom of this? I’m telling you, the answer is in here.” He pointed at the satchel. “And we need to find it before the others get antsy and decide it’s time to make an arrest.”

Karl shook his head. “I don’t get it, Faust. What’s in this for you?”

The officer took a step back and began heading in the direction of the car park. “The truth, Mr Gabriel. The truth. Same as you. Now hurry up, if we’re quick we can still make the next train.”

Karl watched him for a moment. The last thing he wanted was a young, inexperienced officer slowly him down and hanging around his farm. But the draw of access to the police files was too much. And he had to agree the young officer was right; if he wanted to get to the truth, the answer had to be in there somewhere. Or at least a good few steps towards it.

He growled to himself and pulled his coat tighter around his neck, and hurried after Faust.