The Camera Killer Read Online Free PDF Page A

spaghetti, the other Bolognese sauce. She filled each plate in turn, first with spaghetti, then with sauce. Last of all, she sprinkled them with Parmesan cheese. We wished each other
bon appétit.
    Scarcely had we eaten a few mouthfuls when the
News in Pictures
program began, accompanied by even more dramatic background music than usual. With the exception of the weather and sports, all the headlines and forthcoming reports related to the murders in West Styria. The federal president was shown, captioned: “President.” A helicopter shot of the victims’ hometown: “Noose around Killer Tightens.” Pictures of weeping men and women: “Horror-struck.” Then the presenter introduced the program. All the facts were recapitulated.
    Heinrich pointed out that if the killer were a local man (which the report did not, at least, exclude), he might well be in the vicinity. We should bear that in mind, he said. My partner shushed him for fear of missing something, but she then said she dreaded to consider such a possibility. Half in jest, she advised Heinrich to make sure the front door was locked. With aninscrutable expression, he said it was. Eva had checked, and it was double locked.
    Heinrich turned the sound down. He thought it unlikely that the killer, if he were an outsider, would be in the vicinity. Even if he were, he would hardly come here, not even if he was a local man.
    My partner said he seemed to doubt his own words; the look on his face gave him away.
    Heinrich admitted to feeling uneasy, but there was no danger. There were four of us, including two men—we would make mincemeat of the fellow. Besides, the farmer next door might be elderly, but he was tough and strong. The murderer was welcome to come, he said. When my partner pointed out that he was presumably a psychopath, and one could never tell what one was up against and what such a person was capable of, Heinrich brushed this aside with a belligerent gesture and said that no amount of insanity would be proof against the sturdy arms of those present.
    My partner asked what would happen during the night. What if the killer managed to sneak in unobserved while our sturdy arms were relaxing? Heinrich asked if she was genuinely frightened. Not frightened, exactly, my partner replied, but she didn’t feel too good.
    Heinrich contrived to cheer her up by jocularly assuring her that he and I would take turns to stand guard. He turned the sound up again.
    A report on the demonstrations outside the commercial station was just in progress. The transmission of the video was irrevocably scheduled for 11:30 p.m. The presenter mentioned that German politicians had appealed for calm and asked the station to practice restraint. This had failed to have the desired effect on those in charge. Someone—Heinrich coughed just as his name was mentioned, so I missed it—had called for a ban onthe transmission, but this too had come to nothing for various reasons.
    A spokesman for the TV channel had stated that, although they had the deepest respect for the victims’ family and the dead children themselves, the transmission was essential in order to acquaint the public with the full extent of the tragedy. It would be wrong to allow a potential ban to sweep the details under the carpet. The broadcasters refused to be intimidated by threats.
    They’re talking bullshit, Heinrich exclaimed.
    The
News in Pictures
presenter stated that Austrian Broadcasting dissociated itself from such methods and would confine itself to showing a photograph of the victims. The children appeared for the first time. They had a black bar over their eyes, and the photograph was grainy and out of focus. The caption at the foot read, “Franz (seven)” and “Josef (eight).”
    This is terrible, Heinrich exclaimed, quite terrible. My partner indignantly agreed. Eva, with her eyes fixed on her plate and a last forkful of spaghetti in her hand, said she meant what she’d said: If this video were televised,