A little beautiful village located somewhere. Nothing spectacular ever happens here.
Monday July 11th, 2011, 7:56 a.m. Police Station
»Kowalski, great, that you’re back again! How was your vacation?«
Sheriff Carl Parker takes his feet from the escritoire and offers a handshake to his colleague, without getting up at all.
»Fine, thanks.«
»And the weather?«
»Could have been better, thanks.«
»Yap. Being a vacationer in general, one does prefer sunshine, I assume.«
»But the wind and rain really do actually have a quality, too -
talking sea here.«
»Three weeks onshore alone, not a little boring?«
»I wasn’t alone. Oh, you probably didn’t know yet. I was there accompanied by Dusty, my young golden retriever.«
»Go figure. No girlfriend anymore, but instead a brand-new dog.«
»Yes. And how was it over here?«
»The same as always, nothing special. You didn’t miss out anything.
Well, the usual stuff. Some harmless disputes between neighbors, two small traffic accidents and a minor shoplifting. The Preacher’s youngest snatched some candy bar along in the bakery. Apart from all that, nothing special, not even any hefty bar-room punch-ups, not one, Kowalski, not one. Shall I tell you something? I’m a police officer here for 23 years and actually I really do ask myself from time to time, what is more boring, my marriage or my job?«
»What, nothing happening here? When I was walking my dog yesterday evening, I met Smith, and he told me about your attempts to fly.« Parker jumps from his chair. Flaming red, all blood shooting up in his head.
»Damn, blame it on this damn fucking beast of a cat, the one from the old Blair and it made me the damn mockery of the whole village!«
»Tell me your version.«
Parker sits down again and tries to relax.
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»The Jenkins called me and told me that a cat is high up in her tree and the dog in the garden next door wouldn’t stop barking. That would be the total terror! I was on my way there with Smith. Trying to rescue that damn cat from the tree, it scratched me hard and I lost my balance on my way down. This damn fucking beast. Right after that, it easily made its way down the tree alone and fucked off. And I nearly broke my neck and all my bones and Smith, the idiot, nearly wet himself with laughter. He should have held the bottom of the ladder.«
»Was it really the cat from old Blair? I mean, she lives nearly two miles away from the village, alone and lonely and is a halfway a case for a nursing home.«
»When you take the shortcut through the forest, then it’s only half distance, only a mile. And whether a mile or two, nothing special for a stray cat, I’d think. Yes, it was the cat from old Blair; I wouldn’t know another with white feet.«
Kowalski lights a cigarette.
»At 50 you will die of lung cancer, my boy. But you still got some twenty years.«
»Well, that would defiantly save me the menopause, I assume. The one that you’re living through right now« teases Kowalski.
»Apropos, smoking. Time ago, Smith asked me for a cigarette. Go figure, I’m an enthusiastic nonsmoker! But I think, there is something wrong with Smith anyway. I lent him $100 a couple of weeks ago, and I still don’t have them back till today.«
»I can figure, what he needs the dough for.« Kowalski says, and adds: »Just ask Becky.«
»Becky?«
»Yap! Rebecca.«
»Apropos Becky. Last week, some slob demolished the side mirror of my BMW. Insurance agent Hofman, the brother-in-law of Becky, said I would only have the mirror reimbursed if it would have been stolen. I knew that myself, but Hofman could have really doctored something, you know. But the old babbit doesn’t do me this favor.«
Babbit yourself, thinks Kowalski and walks grinning to his locker, because he is pretty sure, that it could have only been the preacher’s youngest.
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Saturday July 23rd, 2011, 01:03 p.m. Blair’s House
»I was already wondering, that the door was wide open«, the nurse is crying. »But when I saw her lying on the floor, I called you right away, Mr. Parker.«
Wednesday July 27th, 2011, 10:33 a.m. Police Station
»The lady from the nursing-service is delivering lunch around noon daily, and last Saturday about noon she found old Blair dead in her living room.«
Parker looks shortly at Kowalski, waiting for consent. Then he keeps on talking. »Reason of death, poison, which was as well proven in Blair’s tea. Time of death, roughly between seven p.m. and midnight.«
»Ok, but the motive? Well, taking a look at this total mess in the house, we can surely assume that something was looked for.«
» The motive, Kowalski, the motive ... When we could at least find anyone, that could testify, that either money, jewelry or other valuables were taken from the house, then we would be some steps further. Blair ’ s only daughter lives in Bitterfield, far away from here.
She won ’ t be able to help us any further either. Additionally, she didn ’ t visit her mother in the last three years. Kowalski, while searching for traces, we completely forgot the shortcut, the little path in the forest that is still barred with that old pike and forbidden for vehicles. From this barrier there are 150 yards to Blair ’ s house. On my little Sunday morning, I took some looks and found rather fresh tire traces. I couldn ’ t tell you this - because? Now guess, which car they actually belong to?«
»No idea.« Kowalski shortly nods his head to emphasize.
»To our squad car.«
»To our squad …? Wait a sec, should this be the car of the actual delinquent, then ...«
»Yes, I know, but what you’re burning to know now. On the day of the crime, I was on duty until ten p.m. and then Smith took over. We should have a go at Smith right away. And Kowalski, be completely aware, I will lead the interrogation completely alone.«
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Wednesday July 27th, 2011, 01:07 p.m. Police Station
»Smith, why on earth are you driving with our squad car over that little forest hike to granny Blair’s?«
»I ...«, stutters the cop, »I just … wanted to ... visit her.«
»So, only visit her ...«, repeats Parker the questionable statement and watches Kowalski, who keeps a face. »And? More?«
»The door stood wide open. I … straight into the house and … she was already lying smack dead on the floor.«
»Man, Smith, really no one will buy that. No one. And you drive secretly in the middle of the night to bring her some bedtime sweets and tell her some bedtime stories? Man, Smith!«
Kowalski lights one.
»Speaking of bedtime stories. No fairy tales, Rebecca told us.«
»Rebecca, what Rebecca?«, asks Smith, as if he wouldn’t know, who was referred to. »Rebecca, our Becky from the lotto retailer.
Nowadays she is constantly asking where you got all the pocket gambling money from, ya? The only win she could ever remember cashing out to you was nine dollars and some dimes. Know what, Smith, you’ve got a serious gambling addiction, needed the money and assumed, to strike a rich vein at Blair’s, right? Am I right? That’s what happened? YOU poisoned her!«
Smith’s facial expression turns somewhat into the seriousness of a tombstone and then suddenly it bursts out of him: »YES, I put the poison into the cup. And you know what? I poisoned the cat, too!«
»YES! Exactly, and this damn fucking beast of a cat!«, screams Parker like a champion. Kowalski stays cool, nonchalantly stubs out his cigarette and states: »OK, now we’ve got him. Off to prison cell with that one.«
A little beautifully village located somewhere. Now with one law enforcement officer less. And in spite of this, the inhabitants feel even more secure.
Wednesday July 27th, 2011, 10:45 p.m. Tavern
»The fact, that the milk for the cat was poisoned, too, this was first only known to the murderer. Sadly enough, I had to sacrifice my dog.
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When I was driving to the crime scene again, the day before yesterday, Dusty took some tastes of the milk bowl, standing in the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he collapsed. Simon, the vet, couldn’t do anything about it and was plain clueless, thus we drove to the pet clinic immediately and the dog was vivisected in the laboratory, while driving to town, Simon told me about the black cat with the white feet, that he had to put to sleep because someone had hit and injured it on the road.«
Kowalski hands a cigarette out to his colleague and lights it.
After a deep inhale, Smith resumes. »Yes, our good old Sheriff Carl Parker. A life full of boredom, and then the menopause too. And to have finally some action in his life, he poisons the old Blair and wants to pin the blame for the murder on me.«
»Parker, this psychopath, tried to poison the cat. As an act of revenge for his embarrassing fall. When the medic proved the poison in the dog corpse, I called him as he asked me to, whether he would know anything about the cat. As far as I remembered, I only found the animal dead in the house; it could trespass easily via the kitty door, anytime. Parker thanks for the information, nothing else. I didn’t tell him about the poison and Dusty. Not a word.«
»Also I’ve never told him about my qualities as an actor. And he took care of the tire prints, when he drove to granny Blair before committing the crime?«
»Exactly!«
And as for the ladder fall - I took care of that. Smith inhales deeply.
Beneath the Valley of the Ultra-Catholics
»This room for two persons costs 45 dollar per person and night.«
»What? 45 dollar for such a dump?« My boyfriend Peter, the actor, is wondering. »You will find the shower down in the corridor. Sirs, this isn’t the Ritz or Hilton.« The hotel owner, being already a little on in 18
her years, made that very clear to both of us. Nevertheless, we take the room. »And where is everyone meeting up to party in the evenings?«
Peter is asking the old lady. »Actually, in church. The mass starts at 6
p.m.« »Excuse me, I meant, to party, to dance, drink, and tell stories?
Where to enjoy the nights, have some fun and so on?« »Sirs, this isn’t Daytona Beach or Panama City!«
In the evening, we take a stroll around the village. We single out an old pub and enter the establishment. It is 10 p.m. and we are definitely the only guests. Peter is making funny remarks on top of his lungs, till the innkeeper hands us the bill. »I am closing now.« »And where is the party going on? Where is all happening?«, asks Peter. »Plain nowhere. All the inhabitants of the village have to get up very early for the mass. This isn’t Daytona Beach or Panama City!«
We stroll back through the dark night, to the hotel, slightly tipsy and giggling. » When nothing is going on here, well well well, then we will MAKE something going on here, right?« Peter said grinning to me, when we arrived at the Pension. Back in our room, my friend suddenly opens the windows and screams: » WAKE UP!!! WAKE UP ALL
UP!!! YOUR JESUS HAS COME!!!« Everywhere in the village, the lights go on. In the room next door, someone bangs madly against the wall and screams » Quiet!!! Quiet, you damn idiot!!! This isn ’ t Daytona Beach or Panama City!!!«
The next morning, our old lady announces very seriously that this is a respectable village and asked if we would please move out immediately. That’s exactly, what we did. We pick up our luggage and walk to Peter’s car. The wipers are ripped off, a stinking cow pie in the middle of the front lid and the right side window is smashed.
My friend opens the door and finds a notice on the front seat.
»What’s written?«, I ask. »FUCK OFF YOU DAMN DIRTY
PUNKS! IMMEDIATELY!« Me again: »Hey darling, let’s keep going! Shall they look for any other Jesus for their passion play! This is the deep valley of the Ultra-Catholics.«
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Bonus: The Evil Within (New Version)
God sees everything, p reached the unmarried Joshua Black with all passion to his church. This congreation constisted of 544 churchmen.
Sad, but true, only some 30 worshipers found their way to his Sunday sermons at ten a.m. Pastor Black was asking himself ever so often: And how many of these few people are nothing but hypocrites? Who leads a double life? No one can read another’s thoughts. God only knows what goes on inside of his creatures.
He was sure that Grandma Kowalski, an exceptional and spry 93
yearold, was a god-fearing and therefore did not belong to the fraction of hypocrites. For the preacher, hypocrites were all the people that pretended to be Christians, but whose deeds were not in accord with the Christian belief. They were like wolves in sheep’s clothing. A regular church or sermon and a necklace with a cross did not turn anyone into a Christian at all. For God, what humans do when no one is watching is more important. God is all-knowing, because God is omnipresent.
Pastor Joshua Black came from a bigger town, about 300 miles away from Springfield. There, he first studied three semesters of medicine, until he finally found God and the true belief due to God’s mercy and thus became a dominie. Some one and a half years before, he moved into the village and overtook the church administrative office because his predecessor, Reverend Joe Weaver, went into retirement.
On Christmas more of the churchmen actually showed up and participated in the mass, but one was never ever seen there. As opposed to all other church visitors, his sins were only too obvious.
Perry Hobbs moved to Springfield about six months ago and stole peace from the village. He was freshly divorced, and was accused of having nearly beaten his first wife to death. His recent partner, Janet Tanner, was constantly beaten. And not only one time. Everybody in the village knew that he also constantly abused his new partner’s thirteen year old daughter. And no one in the village ever interfered or did anything to stop it… yet.
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After the mass, the 39 years old servant of the Lord normally first went to the tavern to smear his dried out throat with two or three beers. He loved to hang out with Major Murphy and Sheriff Freeman who loved to discuss criminal cases and ficticious crimestories.
Freeman always confessed to the pastor that, if he were not being a policeman, he would teach this damn swine of a man Hobbs a tough lesson. A very tough lesson, actually. But he only confessed that to the Reverend and the Major, and thus it was a shared secret.
Hobbs was nothing but a thorn in the conservative Major’s flesh as well. This guy was not meant to belong into their honorable community. Additianally, Hobbs’ stepdaughter was his daughter. This secret never became public either. But some years ago, Murphy did actually confess to pastor Black. Janet Tanner was a woman that Major Murphy had an affair with, though he was married at this time.
Perry Hobbs had long not been seen for a morning pint. He had to drink his beer somehwere else, either at home or outside on a park bench, near the historical monument, when the innkeeper Oliver expelled him from the pub. Oliver was really fed up with that gadfy, that provoced the other guests, started fights and never payed his tippe shell. So far, he owed some 500 dollar to the clubowner for drinks and smashed up inventory. Hobbs, being out of work, could never think of reducing his debts. The enourmous consumation of alcohol and dissatisfaction with his life formed a vicious circle.
On a Monday morning, some five days before Christmas Eve, the number of inhabitants of the village was lowered by one. It was not Grandma Kowalski, the village elder, that left them. A pedestrian found Perry Hobbs lying dead in the creek.
Today, shortly after Christmas
I sit alone at my kitchen table and I’ve just finished my breakfast. I could take one more cup of coffee. There is a knock on my door. I hardly have ever any visitors so early. It will surely be Freeman. I was well prepared for that occasion.
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I open the door and he is the caller.
»May I?«
»Of course.«
We go to the kitchen and I offer a chair to my guest.
»I have the morning off today and I thought why not stop by the parson, the one who always breakfasts so very alone. And a good opportunity for some further discussion about crimes and criminalist sensory.«
»Coffee?«, I ask.
Freeman nods, dumb. I take a clean cup and pour hot coffee from the pot and join him at the table.
»It is about Hobbs, right?« I am not really asking that at all - I know that it is about Hobbs.
»Yes, exactly. Perry Hobbs died on Sunday, the 18th of December, at about midnight. Death by drowning.«
»A silly accident«, I say after a short silense.
»That’s about the size of it. But concerning Hobbs’ case, there is something more.«
»Like exactly what?«
The police officer pours some milk into his cup. I hand him a spoon.
»When the corpse was examined, they found …«
»A lot alcohol«, is my fast explanation.
»This would explain an accident, a boozer falling in the creek. No, they found benzodiazepine.«
»Benzodia...?« I ask stupidly as I put my right hand into my pocket and play nervously with the little bottle.
Freeman focuses on the cup of coffee with sharp eyes.
»It is a narcotic, an anestethic. You can also find it to be psychotropic. Why did Hobbs take this drug? Who prescribed it for him? A doctor did not in any case. Where did this drug come from?«
»Well ... good question.«
»By the way, knockout drops contain benzodiazepine as well. And even stranger, why didn’t we find this pharmaceutical in his place?«
I deliberate on this and look around in the room.
»Well, we can possibly think that he first got drugged and then …«
Freeman takes a careful sip.
»Coffee tasting strange?«
»It must be the holy water«, is my answer by keeping a straight face.
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»Our Mr. Preacher makes jokes! You should do that in church, and then more will attend the sermon!«
»The sermon is no comedy show and the Bible a serious matter.
This holy book is the mirror, how dirty or clean you are in front of the eyes of God. Self delusion does not function in this case at all. The one who does not take the Bible seriously is stupid. It is all about where you will spend eternity - in heaven or hell.«
»I do not believe in any eternity at all, and I do not believe in any God either, not in any that lets evil happen. I do not believe in any God, that has people in the poor countries die from famine either.«
»A way bigger catastrophe is to stand by without acting. There is a study that makes clear that the money of the seven richest people in the world would be enough to abolish all hunger worldwide.«
»I do not believe in any God that has criminals go without punishment.«
»That is wrong!«, I react with a sharp voice. »What goes around comes around. We reap what we sow. It is all simply a question of time.«
»Sorry, I am really not sure about that. I cannot believe in any God that I cannot see, but who never overlooks anything himself. For me and my court, only proof counts. I do believe in right and wrong.«
»And in the fine fragile line between that«, I add.
Freeman carefully takes another sip and says: »One who believes in God cannot deny the existence of the devil.«
»Of course not, the devil is real. He is called Satan, or Lucifer, and was long ago the most beautiful angel to be found in all of heaven.
After the creation of Adam and Eve, God demanded that all the angels worship humans, but Satan refused to. The humans should worship him, not the other way around. Satan wanted to be like God. He wanted to climb up the skies and sit on the thrown next to the Almighty. But because of his pride and, Satan became a fallen angel.
Since then, he projects all his hatred, jealousy and pain onto us humans, because he got driven out and alienated by us from his holiness, and happiness, while being amongst all angels in heaven.«
»Ho-hum«, Freeman moaned, being rather tired and bored.
»Angels are spiritual beings. The devil is the father of all lies that attacks our mind. And all our thoughts get influenced by this, which triggers emotions, that again, have nothing but a bad influence on our 23
deeds. Satan tries by all available means to make the human body the object of sin. One can definitely say that Satan is the spirit of deception. Bad people are obsessed by such demons and turn into criminals. By killing felons, you cannot eliminate these forces of evil either. Jesus did exorcise demons. There are legions of fallen angels und if they were visible, they would darken the sun.«
The sheriff looked at me unbelievingly. Unimpressed I kept on talking.
»Someone who loves God obeys his creator. Every human was equipped with free will by God; the fall of mankind in the Garden of Eden shows that explicitly. Either you follow what God said, or you keep your fingers away from the forbidden fruits ...«
»Oh you don’t«, interrupts me Freeman.
»That is right. Or you do something, that God forbids, one sin. Sin is the cause of all evil in this world. All that is allowed or not can be found in the Bible, the word of God. I orientate myself thus, consulting the word of Jesus Christ, the God of life and the resurrection.
And only His judgments are just.«
»Eye for an eye ...«
»Tooth for a tooth, I know«, I break in.
»And with this philosophy, society would only consist of blind people and ones who wear false teeth. That is no justice but revenge. It is written: The revenge is Mine, spoketh the Lord. Eye for an eye, the revenge does not function, Jesus instead demands: Love your enemies!
With this love, he does not refer to any feeling, but to a decision on how to treat others. And enemies are people that one finds to be rather unsympathic and one avoids. Love your enemies, that works because the Lord are going to handle it. To take the law into one’s own hands is not allowed.«
»Well, with good cause«, Freeman agrees. »I do believe in chain of events by chance.«
» Either you believe in God or everything is mere chance. For me, God is the most sovereign ruler of the universe, the one that has everything under his control and thus never makes any mistakes, He is perfect. And that excludes any coincidences at all, the chaos and the fear in this world are of no coincidence, they have reasons.
In our consumer society nowadays, many want to live a materialist and hedonistic oriented life and religious faith is lost. And exactly 24
there, where the people don ’ t belief in the devil, the demonic power is at its peak. Where there is a lack of religious faith, the superstition grows.
The German poet Friedrich Hebbel once stated: Many believe in nothing, but fear everything. There is little trust, but a ;ot of fear in this world. Rooted in this fear is the lack of any trust for God, as a strong belief in God is freeing and gives hope. You have to please God and not the world. God hates self-delusion and self justice as well as the sinful priorities of this contemporary society. Sin means the separation from God and the payback of sin in the lake of fire and brimstone, called hell. «
»Your predecessor wanted to make me belief, that we all would be guilty.«
»Of course, each human is a sinner, but by the belief in Jesus Christ, the people are freed from their sins. It’s the Blood of Jesus that washes our sins away forever.«
»Hey c’mon, it’s alright now«, interrupts again Freeman. »Don’t preach any Gospel here. But back to Hobbs, where was I?«
I think hard. »We talked about the coffee, which tasted of holy water?«
»No, before.«
»That Hobbs got drugged?«, I answer.
»Really? And?«
»And... that someone might have arranged his death by drowning«, I whispered. »He got drugged first and then someone forced his head into the creek, for example.«
My guest suddenly starts to yawn.
»Hobbs’ case really did cost me sleep over the last few days.«
»I can imagine ...«
Then, Colloster looks deep into my eyes.
»Hobbs was last seen alive on this warm Decemberday around eleven p.m. at the monument.«
»Well«, I actually scrarch my chin.
Freeman leans over the table. »And where exactly was Mr.
Reverend at that time?«
»Here in my apartment«, I answered.
I was sleeping, I already said so.«
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»Hobbs died around midnight. But someone did see you around the creek at that time.«
»Thar is clearly an outright lie!«, I affirm and get upset.
Moses was a murderer, he killed an Egyptian. But nevertheless, he was a child of God, a chosen one, who lead the tribe of Israelites out of the Egyptian knightship. With the death of Perry Hobbs, the whole village was again free after half a year, freed from a tyrant. I am under suspicion. One can be sure about my hatred concubinates, how I hate physical violence, But no one could even dare to assume to know how I hated Hobbs and wished him to go to hell. No one could read my thoughts.
»Many in the village are slightly happy, that Hobbs is dead«, explains Freeman. But that is nothing new to me.
»And some do have a motive, for example our Mr. Major Murphy«, I disclose to the policeman. He seems to be surprised. For him, this information seems to be new and he wants to know more.
»And what exactly?«
Janet Tanner’ s child was his illegitimate daughter. He confessed that to me.
»I am not allowed to say that in p