Brenner and God

CHAPTER 22

The first body to be released for burial was the nanny’s husband, probably because when you’re the police, there’s no lack of certainty over a death that you pulled the trigger on. There weren’t many people there, but Brenner gave the Frau Doctor, of all people, credit for coming to the funeral, even though the man had tried to profit from her misfortune. And whether you believe it or not, she even let the nanny continue to look after Helena. On the one hand, as a single parent you’re happy to have anyone at all for your child, but I can imagine that the Frau Doctor was looking to blame herself once again, along the lines of, if my child hadn’t been in her care, then her husband never would’ve had the opportunity-and maybe, without me, they would’ve grown old together as a happily married couple.

As they lowered his coffin into the cremation furnace, it struck Brenner that the Frau Doctor was crying more than the nanny, but surely her own losses played a role here-because she was really a double widow what with Kressdorf and Congressman Stachl-and it all might have flowed into her tears for the thirty-year-old dilettante sidecar driver, who they lowered to the sound of a cassette recording of his favorite song, “Above the Clouds,” because his dream job: pilot.

Two days after Herr Zauner they buried Milan. Zauner, that was the nanny’s husband’s name, not Resch like the nanny because they were only life partners. You see, you get to know people at a funeral. Milan’s name was Milan Zeco, and three days before his twenty-second birthday he got nailed. At first Brenner was surprised that the authorities would release a stabbing victim so soon based on his witness testimony alone. But then at Kressdorf’s funeral, Peinhaupt told him that Sanja had corroborated his testimony. Which is to say, Milan had put himself between the two thugs so that Sanja could run away. But unfortunately he’d pulled his toy gun, and that was the mistake. Don’t go thinking that Sanja was at the funeral, though. Either she didn’t dare to go, or else Reinhard had told her she wasn’t allowed to, I don’t know.

The two gas station drunks were there. And they cried for Milan-Brenner hadn’t seen anything like it his whole life. Preimesberger, Erich, so the fat one was named, born 1967, sign Pisces, Capricorn ascendant, and the thin one was Strobl, Peter, December ’65, Sagittarius, ascendant unknown.

Brenner learned all of this at a Shell gas station by the cemetery where they drank to Milan. They deliberately drove past a BP station that was closer by, i.e., one-day funeral boycott since the BP company had fired Milan over nothing.

Brenner’s cell phone didn’t ring once the whole time they were at the gas station, but Preimesberger, Erich must have had an incredibly good sense of hearing, because after a few beers he started humming Jimi’s “Castles Made of Sand,” pitch perfect. Just for fun, to pull Brenner’s leg. And believe it or not, it wasn’t until that moment when Brenner heard it as just a hummed melody that the missing lyrics finally hit him, as though Jimi Hendrix had tried to warn him from the start that MegaLand would cause him mega-problems. And, I should add, he really would’ve needed to tune in better to hear what Jimi Hendrix had been telling him. Or, for those who don’t believe in Jimi Hendrix, the unconscious mind. Because why else would Brenner have picked out this song, which had never been his absolute favorite, just a few weeks after he took the job? You see, so it begins.

Annoyed that this was only just clicking into place for him now, he switched his ringtone back to normal right there in the Shell shop. Or, better put, he couldn’t do it himself, but Strobl, Peter-incredibly adept at this sort of thing.

Three beers later he wouldn’t have been able to do it anymore, because he’d need both hands to hold onto the counter. Brenner paid for everything, out of sheer gratitude that they were content to blame Milan’s death on BP and not on him. At least three of the fifties from the envelope Reinhard had given Brenner were put to practical use here.

In retrospect, the seven funerals seemed like one single long funeral to Brenner, even though nearly three weeks passed between the first and the last. It’s always fascinating when human paths cross, and two people can be born a thousand kilometers apart, grow up on different continents, never hear of each other, and then by some fatal accident while on vacation they should meet. And it was exactly the opposite for the four in the cesspit now. They would’ve been buried together, but first they had to be fished out, and of course autopsies had to be performed, and so they landed in four different cemeteries.

For the security boss, Brenner even had to drive all the way to the Czech border, because he was interred in Gmund. Nobody recognized Brenner in Gmund because, even though he’d been in the newspaper again, this time as a liberated Kressdorf-hostage, black bars had been put over his eyes. At first the funeral seemed a little strange to him, but then he realized that the parents of the deceased were Jehovah’s Witnesses, ergo their own rites and rituals. And after the funeral he had to call the OAMTC because the Mondeo wouldn’t start. But don’t go thinking that the Jehovah’s Witnesses in Gmund had something against him. Because a marten had chewed through the fuel line.

For the foreman, he also had to drive outside of Vienna, but only half an hour out to Tulln. You should know, Vienna’s workers generally come from the surrounding areas-Waldviertel: the forest region, Weinviertel: the wine region, Bucklige Welt: land of a thousand hills, Burgenland: the sunny side of Austria, Steiermark: Austria’s green heart-never from Vienna itself. Because the Viennese, generally speaking: lazy hogs. The foreman had a twin brother who resembled him down to the last freckle. And that was enough to make your skin crawl. Like the deceased was standing at his own grave site! The brother was a very decent male nurse at a regional hospital in Krems. The little girl at his side really looked like Pippi Longstocking what with her pigtails, and Brenner wondered whether she was the daughter of the dead or the living twin.

Interesting, though: regardless of whether it was her father or her uncle lying in the coffin, Brenner had enormous sympathy for this girl, who he didn’t know and hadn’t known about. But a few days later at Kressdorf’s funeral, when he saw Helena again for the first time-zero feelings. If that’s even possible! He cast an aloof glance at her from across the church pews to where she stood holding her mother’s hand behind the coffin. As though he hadn’t spent days fearing for her life. As though he hadn’t been holding on to a chocolate bar for weeks just for her. And he even forgot to give it to her now. I can’t fully explain it, but maybe a psychologist could, who might say, such and such, and therefore, Brenner, at that moment, no feelings.

And while I’m on the topic of psychologists: maybe that’s where the answer lies, and Brenner paid no attention to Helena because he was so worked up about Natalie. Or, actually about Peinhaupt, because he wondered what the cop was doing hanging around Natalie this whole time. What was there for him to go snooping around for at a funeral?

Brenner was of two minds. Because on the one hand, you shouldn’t be ungrateful to the person who saved your life; on the other hand, Peinhaupt had interrogated him so much the last few days that he could have gladly done without him. And one thing you can’t forget: as a cop, you don’t usually go to the funeral of a criminal who you shot dead.

At least Peinhaupt didn’t go to the congressman’s funeral. Neither did Natalie. And even with the best of intentions, the Frau Doctor couldn’t go. The newspaper people would have pounced on her, don’t even ask. You should know, Stachl’s murder by Kressdorf was hyped as the jealousy drama of the year- Othello ’s got nothing on it. They couldn’t get enough of the “double widow” who got her child back on the same day that she lost both of her men.

They didn’t know anything about the bribes, because that was the small deal that the cops and the politicos and Brenner and Bank Director Reinhard all agreed on: that a connection didn’t need to be established unnecessarily between the jealousy drama and MegaLand. And for that they were willing to cooperate with Brenner on the matter of the South Tyrolean, i.e., the South Tyrolean was released and was only charged for having waited as long as she did before turning the stray child in to the police.

You’re going to say, Brenner could’ve quietly exposed the construction mafia so that even the big guys would get theirs, too. But what good would that have done? Stachl and Kressdorf were dead, and everything that would eventually come to light would get blamed on the two of them. And so Brenner just said, I’d rather see if I can set things right for the South Tyrolean. Because who’s going to water her flowers if she’s locked away for months? And so you see, there was also some self-interest involved, because he was worried that she’d ask him to water the flowers.

When he called and informed her that she didn’t have much to fear, all she said was, “I knew from the shtart that you were a decent man. But could you do me a favor?”

Brenner was a little disappointed, of course, because in his opinion he had just done her a favor. On the other hand, he was glad for the chance to see her again. You should know, to his question what kind of favor? she’d only say, “Not over the phone. But if you’re here in twenty minutes, the eshpresso will shtill be warm.”

Her apartment felt a little strange to him at first.

“Everything’s new in here.”

And from Brenner’s mouth, a sentence like that isn’t a compliment.

“Because of the blood, I needed a painter and a floor sander. And because of the painter and the floor sander, I had to move the furniture outshide. And because they were already outshide, I let them get hauled away. I’m happy to be rid of that old junk.”

“And the plants?”

“They’re in the other rooms. I jusht have to put them back again.”

“And that’s what you couldn’t say over the phone? That’s what you dragged me here for?”

“The plants I can move by myshelf. But maybe only a few. It’s gotten to be too many. I’m not some ape living in a jungle, you know.”

“I liked them.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a greenhorn.”

“So then, what do you need me for?”

Beaming, the South Tyrolean led him to the kitchen window and pointed to the street, where a factory-new VW bus with dealer plates was parked.

“You’ll have to drive the car for me. I haven’t driven in so long. It would be a pity if I drove it wrong.”

“A VW bus?” A laugh nearly escaped Brenner. “What do you want a VW bus for?”

“So I can give somebody a ride now and then.”

On the drive, she sat beside him beaming like a kid on her confirmation day and alternated between watching Brenner and watching the pedestrians and the cars and the bicyclists and the shops. And every few minutes when Brenner pressed on the gas or the brakes or made a turn, expectantly she’d ask: “And? How’s it drive?”

“Perfectly,” Brenner replied, but meanwhile he started up on how a smaller, women’s car would’ve been better for her, a Polo or a Mini or a French Musketeer or a Japanese Micra Mouse, and whether she couldn’t still trade in the bus. But he might as well have been talking to the windshield, because at the next traffic light, the South Tyrolean, expectant again, asked, “And? How’s it drive?”

“I need to step on it a little more,” Brenner said, and he drove along the Danube in the direction of Klosterneuburg. Within a few meters of the road sign he was already going 120, and satisfied, the South Tyrolean determined, “It’s got zing.”

When the mighty bronze lions at the waterworks whisked past them, she beamed and said, “It’s good to get away from your own shtreet now and then.”

And believe it or not, it turned out that for the last three and a half years she hadn’t dared to venture any farther from her apartment than the few meters to the gas station across the street. Until the day Brenner hadn’t come back as promised and she’d set off to take Helena to the police.

Brenner didn’t want to believe her at first, but she just said, “They’ve got everything at the gas shtation.”

From her mouth, it sounded like a reasonable explanation for why she hadn’t left her own street for three and a half years. Brenner was just glad she’d had the courage to on the day that she’d saved his life. So many unusual things had happened to him these past few days that he didn’t try for very long to understand why a person would lock herself up at home for three and a half years. “Confession” comes from “Comprehension,” he thought, but he couldn’t even comprehend why this nonsense would occur to him right now. And I’ve got to say, on closer examination, the normal person’s a rarity, and should you ever meet him, you’d be better off asking him how and why and how come.

The VW bus ran perfectly in the mountains, too. Brenner drove it up to Reinhard’s domicile, and incredibly, it was only on the steepest ten meters that he had to downshift to second.

It was early afternoon, and the bank director, of course, wasn’t at his domicile. But his wife was lying in a lawn chair, her face in the shade, her legs in the sun. And you see, a bus is good for this, because Brenner wouldn’t have been able to see over the bushes in a car that was any lower to the ground.

“Why did you park here?”

The South Tyrolean looked a little anxious, and to be perfectly honest, the steeply sloping street looked a little criminal. But the bus didn’t roll away while Brenner walked briskly over to the garden gate and rang the bell. Reinhard’s wife reluctantly got up from her lawn chair and came to the garden gate in a bathrobe. Brenner pressed an envelope into her hand and said he was supposed to deliver it to her husband. Three of the twenty fifties were missing, but Brenner didn’t care.

On the drive back, he explained to the South Tyrolean why he’d returned the bank director’s money, and because they were on the topic of money, he asked her what the VW bus cost.

“I bargained him down to fifty thousand,” the South Tyrolean said, “radio included.”

Because Brenner was still annoyed that she hadn’t bought a more affordable women’s car, he let the question slip, did she have a money tree?

“You might put it that way,” the South Tyrolean replied, and she told Brenner that half of the valley back home belonged to her because her brother had a motorcycle accident and her uncle didn’t have any children. “So I inherited my own megaland.”

“And you sold off a field for the VW bus?”

“Are you crazy? I didn’t give anything away. I shwore to myself that I wouldn’t touch any of it. It’s all leased out. And someday I’ll leave it to someone else.”

“And the fifty thousand?”

“That was last year’s interesht on the savings account,” the South Tyrolean said. “I thought the interesht I could at leasht touch for a car. So I can get out a little. It’s not healthy to be cooped up on your own shtreet all the time. A person’s got to be among people now and then.”

It hit Brenner just then that he was due shortly at Knoll’s funeral, and he asked her whether he could drive straight to the Doblinger cemetery, and she’d drive herself home.

“I don’t undershtand why you go running to every single funeral,” the South Tyrolean said. “You’re worshe than my old aunties back home.”

But Brenner didn’t let that dissuade him, and because the South Tyrolean said nothing against it, he simply drove straight to the Doblinger cemetery and said good-bye to her.

But then he had to look. Because more people had come to Knoll’s funeral than to Kressdorf’s and Stachl’s and Milan’s and Herr Zauner’s and the foreman’s and the security boss’s all put together.

Knoll was officially regarded as Kressdorf’s first victim-not to mention a victim of slander, because of the public’s rush to judgment about the kidnapping. In light of the murder, his smaller misdemeanors like blackmailing slipped right under the table-he was getting a hero’s funeral now, you can’t even imagine. From Opus Dei to the pope’s best friend, from the last Habsburger to the cathedral preacher, they all came together to pay their last respects to the martyr. And right in the midst of the mourners Brenner discovered Bank Director Reinhard. He looked rather troubled. Because, I think for a benevolent string-puller like him it’s always incomprehensible when your little ward-for whose mission he’d truly done what he could, even financing, without any collateral, the abortion clinic’s surrounding offices-turns around and bites the hand that feeds him.

It came as no surprise to Brenner that he’d see Natalie at the funeral because over the years she’d sought out conversations with Knoll time and again. She told Brenner a few things about Knoll’s life, that his father had been one of the first organic farmers and had died of skin cancer, and that the police still hadn’t found the video.

“Maybe it doesn’t even exist,” Brenner said, and he wondered how Natalie got to be so well informed about the police investigation.

But when he saw who picked Natalie up after the funeral, everything became clear to him.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than to go ogling after shtrange women?”

Brenner thought he wasn’t hearing correctly. Knoll’s funeral had lasted an hour and a half, and the VW bus was still parked there.

“How come you didn’t drive home?”

“You’re really not too shwift.”

“It lasted too long for my taste, too.”

“I’m talking about your head. It’s not too shwift.”

“That’s what you said the first time we met at the gas station.”

“And unfortunately it hasn’t gotten any better.”

Brenner stood in the parking spot and the South Tyrolean leaned out the open car door and spoke slowly, as though to a slow-witted child, “I don’t have a driver’s lischense, Herr Simon!”

And now that really reminded Brenner of the first time they met. Because just like then, he was searching for a good line, and just like then, nothing came to him. And so the South Tyrolean beat him to it.

“I’m going to need a chauffeur, Herr Simon.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Firsht up, you drive me home.”

That was a good suggestion for Brenner, because he was thinking, by the time we get to her apartment, I’ll have come up with a good excuse.

As they drove out of the cemetery’s parking lot they passed Natalie again, who was standing with Peinhaupt in front of his car and giving him a very serious talking-to. And Peinhaupt was looking rather grim, too. Desperate, I dare say. Brenner would learn the reason why just thirty-seven weeks later. But just Peinhaupt’s luck: Natalie was already well over forty, but she broke it to him after the funeral that, as of March, he’d be paying alimony for a fifth child.