He drove along the railings of the racecourse, under a cluster of trees which rustled in the wind, turned off into a short, dark track that abruptly became bumpy, and finally came to a wide hollow about six foot deep, densely overgrown with leafless shrubs. Instead of leaves, the shrubs were thickly covered with clumps and bunches of wine-red autumn berries. Caught in the beams of his headlights, a veritable sea of bright red and crimson suddenly lit up in the pouring rain. He resolutely drove over to where the shrubbery was less dense. Creepers became entangled in the wheels of his car.
He turned off all the lights, pushed the interior partitions apart and reached again into the interior to release one of the door handles. Then he got out and opened the door.
Darkness, redolent of death, enshrouded him. The rain drummed on the roof of the car and soaked his cap and overcoat.
He leant inside and struck a match. The corpse, shaken into an untidy heap, lay between the seat and the suitcases.
Sponer transferred the match to his left hand, and with his right hand took hold of the man’s hair and pulled him up by his head till his body sagged over backwards.
He now saw that the man was about his own age, clean-shaven, with features which, but for the wan pallor and the bloodstains, would not have been unattractive. A pair of greenish, half-shut eyes stared vacantly back at him.
He dropped the match which had burned to the end, struck another, and began to empty the man’s pockets as quickly as he could. In the breast pockets he found a passport and a couple of letters; in the waistcoat — a bundle of keys; in the overcoat pockets — cigarettes, a lighter and two French newspapers; in the left trouser pocket — some silver coins and a couple of loose, short cartridges; in the right — a handkerchief; in the left hip pocket — a wallet; and in the right hip pocket — a short-barrelled large-calibre revolver.
The man had clearly tried to reach for it, because Sponer had seen the dead man sitting with both hands on his right hip before the body collapsed in a heap. Sponer took all these things. They were partly blood-stained, as the whole of the dead man’s waistcoat was soaked in blood that had already turned sticky.
Apart from the bullet holes in his throat, the man had two more in his upper chest.
In the corner, where he had been sitting, three holes could also be seen: one in the roof lining which stretched right down to the top of the armrest, and two in the upholstery of the armrest.
Sponer got out, went in the dark to the rear and felt the bodywork to see if he could find the exit holes. He only found one, through the roof. The other two bullets had obviously not penetrated the car body. They might have become lodged somewhere. They were probably lead, rather than steel ones.
Sponer struck another match to try and throw some light on the shrubbery in the hollow. There were a lot of loose stones and gravel that had rolled down from the road.
After the match had gone out, he began to scoop up the stones with his bare hands, take them to the car and stuff them in the dead man’s pockets. Every now and again he’d listen, but there was no sound apart from the wind and rain.
He filled the dead man’s pockets as far as he could with the stones, including those of the overcoat. Finally, he also stuffed stones down the trouser legs, which he then tied fast at the bottom with his own coat belt to prevent the stones falling out, and looped the ends of the belt round both legs.
He wiped his hands on the man’s overcoat, stood for a couple of moments in the darkness, slammed the rear door shut, got back into the driver’s seat, switched on the lights and turned on the engine again.
It took him a few attempts to mount the embankment which, in the headlights, rose sharply in front of him. The wheels kept sinking deeper and deeper into the soft ground, but finally, after he had backed a little and had got some speed up, the car cleared the slope and came onto the road again.
For a distance he drove towards the city centre, then turned left at an abandoned, dilapidated inn on the quay, the Winterhafen, and passed a kind of wooden outhouse, no longer in use, like the rest of the buildings on the Winterhafen. There were only two old barges there, but without their crew, who were probably sleeping somewhere in the city rather than on board.
Another hundred yards and he found himself on the Danube.
He pulled up next to the railway line.
The river, glistening under the night sky, surged past with a soft, menacing power.
Sponer turned off the engine and lights, and listened. All that was to be heard was the patter of the rain and the surge of the river.
The lights of some houses shone a long distance away.
Sponer slowly got out of his cab. After standing still for a few seconds, he suddenly swung open the rear door, reached into the darkness and dragged the corpse out. The body, weighed down with the stones, was inordinately heavy. Sponer couldn’t carry it. Holding it under the arms, he dragged it as fast as he could to the edge of the road, over the railway line and down the stony embankment. There he paused for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he pushed the body into the water.
But it remained where it was at the river’s edge. It was too heavy for him to lift up and throw into deeper water.
He therefore had to resolve to wade into the water himself and drag the body after him. He threw off his overcoat and took a few steps into the river. The bank dropped steeply, and the water almost immediately came up to his chest. It was ice-cold, and he nearly lost his footing in the current.
He grabbed hold of the dead man again and pulled the corpse towards him. He could feel the current tugging at the body. He took one more step into the deep water and then let go. With a slight gurgle the body disappeared. He himself was almost swept away. He threw himself towards the bank, felt himself being picked up by the current, but managed to hold onto some stonework, drew himself onto the embankment and, a bit farther downstream, emerged out of the water. He was soaked to the skin. He looked for his overcoat, found it, put it on, and clambered up the embankment.
He cast a quick look around. Nothing. Then he glanced again down the river. The rippling, swirling torrent rushed past at speed.
The dead man was gone.
The rain would wash away the trail of blood leading from the car to the water’s edge…
Sponer washed the blood from the interior of the car at one of the few Danube tributaries that could still be seen here and there in the marshy meadows, collecting into small ponds or pools.
Then he lifted the two suitcases onto the seat, felt for the gloves which he had thrown into the rear at the Opera House, found them and stuck them in his coat pocket. He removed the fibre mat and inspected it by the light of a match.
There were a few dark spots, but not many. The dead man’s clothing must have soaked up most of the blood.
Suddenly Sponer caught sight of the man’s hat lying before him on the running board. It had very likely rolled out when he was pulling out the floor mat.
Sponer took the mat to the edge of the pond, threw it in the water and pushed it under. Then he picked up the hat, placed a stone inside, tore off the band, tied it up so that the stone couldn’t fall out, and threw the lot into the pond. The bundle struck the water with a splash and sank.
Sponer looked for a rag in one of the side pockets next to the driver’s seat, dipped it in water, and began to wash the blood from the leather upholstery. He wrung the rag out, dipped it again in water, and washed the upholstery once more, in addition to the floor and the suitcases. He repeated this several times.