Poachers Road (14 page)

“How could I forget?” Giuliana said.

Felix saw that Peter wasn’t even pretending that he was not all ears.

“Gebi said, well, he texted that . . . something happened. A fire.

They’re dead.”

Volkswagen Polos Felix’s mother’s seven-year-old model Polo will top out at 180. On a good day, as Gebi might say.With the föhn behind you, that warm winter breeze, or a tornado maybe, going down the side of a wall.

Felix wavered at 150, imagining a cloud of black smoke, a serious clank and grind and one good big metallic bang, and then only the decision of what scrap yard he’d send it to.

Still he pushed it. He wanted something, anything, to seize his attention and hold it, so he could not think. He got the eye several times from drivers rolling along nicely at 130, in cars that could do twice that. He came through Schladming after he got off the A10, and he was barrelling down the A9 an hour later.The lights were on a half-hour before he got to the outskirts of Graz.

He phoned Giuliana after he got off the autobahn. She had settled into the hotel. No, she hadn’t been “checking out” the other guys, the dozen or so off-duty Gendarmerie guys who had shown up for the trekking. And no, she wasn’t really fooled by this lame humour. Peter wouldn’t put the moves, sober or wipsi, she told him.

She had her books, they had their bikes and, later, their beer. And yes, she had a lift down to the bahn tomorrow and a ticket, if she changed her mind. And no, it was no problem. She wanted at least one night up on the mountain, with Felix or without.

He picked up some buns and milk before he let himself into the apartment. He waited until he had eaten half of the buns and cheese before phoning the post. Korschak told him Gebhart had left a message at the end of his shift. Korschak’s tone conveyed something to Felix as he recited Gebhart’s home phone number. It was not resentment, Felix decided, or annoyance that Gebhart had conceded a valuable invitation to the new recruit, but perhaps the smallest trace of awe.

“So Felix,” said Korschak. “Look at you. You are hardly in the door here but you get to talk to Gebi and at the Gebhart residence too, I might add.”

“Is it really that big a deal?”

“Is the Pope Catholic? Gebi never mixes home with work.

Never. Even Dieter is scared to phone him at home.You, my friend, are special.”

Felix couldn’t remember hearing that tone of sly humour from the friendly enough but starchy, by-the-book careerist Korschak before. He had recited the phone number in a slow, portentous tone.

“So phone him,” Korschak added, “Something on account of a boy? You’ll know, he said.”

Felix put down the phone, and sat back. He decided again that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, or should do.

He examined his hands. He had walked hand in hand with Hansi Himmelfarb, gotten the butt of half-serious jokes about it.

What would the fire that killed the Himmelfarbs have done to that hand?

FOURTEEN

G
EBHART ANSWERED THE DOOR HIMSELF.

Felix had been around the area before, up and down the myriad roads and lanes that functioned as roads in this hinterland area just outside Graz. Trust Gebhart, he thought, to live on a road that still looked out over farms and woods and held the pungent scent of manure in the air. The nearest neighbour was 200 metres away.

A new Skoda was parked next to Gebi’s down-at-heel Fiat.

“Pretty heroic driving,” said Gebhart. “What are you looking at?”

“Sorry.”

“You think I sleep in my uniform, do you?”

A face, a woman’s, appeared from a doorway behind.

“My wife.”

“Delighted,” said Felix.

“Don’t be too delighted,” said Gebhart. “She’s a nurse in the emerg.”

“How do you work with this crusty old krot?” Mrs. Gebhart asked.

Gebi led him into a parlour. A very tall girl with her father’s nose, and a book, and rimless glasses stirred under a cupola of light and slowly stood.

“Claudia, this is Felix. He is a Gendarme.”

The kid was a gangly 12 or 13 Felix saw, with that mix of open curiosity and reserve peculiar to the age.

“He’s just like daddy. More of an action man you might think, my dear bookworm.”

JOHN BRADY POACHER'S ROAD “De I’m happy to meet you, Fraulein.”

“He bikes around goat tracks in the mountains near Kitzbühel for recreation,” said Gebhardt. “Something you might consider, my dear?”

She rolled her eyes and held her book to her chest and walked out. Gebi held the door before closing it.

“Beer? Coffee?”

“No. No thanks.”

“Well I’m going to have a Puntigamer.You should. It’s the only beer, really.”

Gebi gave him a considered look.

“Look. Don’t be a clown. Have one. Nobody comes to my house from work. Consider yourself a movie star or something.”

Felix looked around the pictures while he waited for Gebhart to return.There was one from the 1980s, it looked like, to go by the cars, with a young, trim Josef Gebhart. Yes; minus 10 or 15 kilo, that was him standing with fellow officers against a Gendarmerie car high up somewhere, with snow in the background.There was a snapshot from long before that, a man standing in the open door of a VW Beetle. He looked like Gebhart. Men, unshaven, in white camouflage gear, eyes squinting in the blazing sun, again up in the snow somewhere.

Gebhart brought only the bottles. He sat in an old armchair.

Felix took a longer swig of the bottle than he had planned. Gebhart kept up his baleful gaze.

“You drove like a goddamned madman back here, anyway,” he said.

“I felt I should come back. Now, I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. But coming right off your precious week’s leave, that is something.That pushed my buttons enough to actually allow you to enter . . .” Gebhart made a desultory wave of his arm around the room, “the Gebhart sanctuary.”

“Pretty exclusive, I hear.”

“Damn right it is.You’re going to have to come up with something good to justify me giving in to my kleine herz over this.”

Felix gave him the eye.

“Well? You broke up with your girl?”

“No.”

“Okay. Let me make a guess. But before I do, let me tell you something. I could kick myself for telling you about that phone call, you know. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” said Felix. “I’d have found out anyway. And I would have been annoyed you hadn’t told me.”

Gebhart gave a small nod. He took a swig of beer and held it in his mouth before swallowing it.

“Well yes,” he said. “It was a message for you after all. But if I’d known you’d be flying down at top speed from the far side of the country, well I’d have waited.”

“Wah wah,” Felix murmured, and shook his head.

“Don’t start that what-if stuff, you hear?”

“I can’t help it. Maybe he would have told me then, if I’d not been so”

“Stop that, I said. Are you listening to me at all?”

Felix nodded.

“How can you know?” Gebhart said. “And even still, what’s ‘a secret’ for the likes of him? It could be anything. You don’t know.

Nobody knows.”

Felix thought again about asking Gebhart his son’s name. If his Down’s was severe. If Gebhart knew a lot about that sort of thing.

Of course he must, he upbraided himself. He looked up from the bottle he had been cradling in his hands.

“But why would he not tell his own parents? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Tell me about it,” said Gebhart. “Isn’t that what I’m saying to you here? Whatever he wanted to tell you, this ‘secret,’ well they’re wily enough, those Down’s kids. They want what they want. So it was nothing really, believe me.”

“But,” Felix said. “It’s just so . . . what happened. It’s so . . . I can’t say what.”

“Hard, isn’t it?”

“That kid, I mean, the son. An only child. And now this?”

Felix’s gaze drifted over the photos again. Gebhart said nothing.

“You said ‘suspicious,’” said Felix. “Did you mean it?”

“Yes, I meant it. The word I got from the fire brigade guy up there, old hand, Dorner’s his name, yes said something started it.

I think he even said he thought paraffin. That’s just blather for now, until we hear from their experts. And show me a farm where they don’t keep paraffin or gasoline, anyway.”

“How come no one got out, or woke up?”

Something changed in Gebhart’s expression.

“You’re asking the wrong cop there, kid. Me and Korschak got there pretty damned quick, just the same time the feuerwehr were coming in. The place was an inferno. That I know. The arson guys showed up after a couple of hours, along with some forensics. They went through what they could.”

Gebhart shrugged.

“I don’t know. I did perimeter for a while, talked to a few neighbours. Then a car with two uniforms came from Graz to take over the site. They, er, got them out, the remains, before I left. So they’re getting the P.M. done.”

“How did it happen?”

“The fire? I don’t know.”

He held up his bottle to study the label.

“But I think your mind is working overtime here.”

“You think it was deliberate?”

Gebhart put down the bottle.

“I try not to think about it.”

Felix watched him turn the bottle slowly on the surface of the table. Then he looked at the pictures on the wall. A minute passed.

He noticed skis, mountain rescue gear, a helicopter in the background in one of the pictures now.

Again he thought back to what Gebhart had told him.

“Look,” Felix said, and prepared to get up. “I’ll go.”

“Finish your beer. Don’t waste it.”

“Why am I here? I just feel bad about it. Maybe I’m going nuts?”

Gebhart nodded.

“Could be,” he said. “Do you want some advice?”

“Can I try a sample first?”

“Sure. It’s not hard. A) Don’t drive that scheisse of a car you have at supersonic speed anymore.”

“B?”

“There isn’t a B. But if there was, it’d be this: go back to your holiday. Don’t heat up your brain over this stuff. You’re shocked.

That’s a nice, normal human reaction. But your best place is you know. Just for the record, did anyone ask you to drive all the way back here, without your girl too?”

“She’s taking the train down tomorrow,” said Felix. “It’s just not the same; I don’t want to go back now.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Well, the trekking thing was only for the weekend. Italy, still. I hope.”

They fell silent again. Felix heard the TV through the walls.

“Paraffin,” he said after a while.

“Gossip. I heard one of them say it, but that’s all.”

Felix took another mouthful of beer.

“Why are you avoiding this, Gebi?”

“Avoiding what? Avoiding making a depp out of myself, jumping to conclusions?”

“You’re not suspicious, not even a bisschen, the tiniest bit?”

“Look,” said Gebhart. “Give them a day or two.What if it’s just an accident? There’s the father, Himmelfarb, and he’s not sleeping because the kid is up all night. There’s a word for that, I think.”

“‘Sleep deprived.’”

“Right. So wait for a preliminary, I think they call it. Nothing’s instant in the job, even for the PlayStation generation.”

“I feel a lecture coming on.”

Gebhart took a long drink and sighed.

“It’s like your mutti always told you: Morgen kommt besser.”

“‘It’ll be better in the morning?’ My mom never said that.”

“Listen to you. You are like our resident bookworm in there.

Whatever I say, she is always ‘But,’ or ‘No,’ or ‘You haven’t a clue.’”

“Did I say those things?”

“You don’t have to. What’s behind the look, or the words is:

‘You’re a dummy. No, you know zip because you’re not online or glued to your mobile. Geezer.’”

“What century were you born in, Gebi?”

“This is how you repay hospitality? Beer?”

Felix was sure he saw a flicker of humour on Gebhart’s face.

“What century? Well I sometimes wonder. Come now, you don’t want to hear my philosophy, if you can call it that.”

“‘Go home, get some sleep and tomorrow we’ll see.’”

“Exactly.”

Felix’s gaze strayed to the photos again, and his mind wandered to questions he’d someday ask Gebhart.

“A fine bunch, huh?”

Felix broke his gaze on the pictures.

“Guys you worked with?”

“Genau. Some times we had, I tell you. By God they could enjoy themselves, these fellows.”

“Not you?”