Short story - Beneath the Vines

Beneath the Vines

"Please, don't take the job," my brother almost begged, looking at me with his ice-blue eyes.

I had hoped for a different reaction when I told him about my chance to earn some extra money.

"Why? I'll pay for the parking spot. The excavator hasn't earned anything yet. You know how badly I need the money."

"Because …" Benni faltered. "… you can't dig there."

"Did you bury something illegal there or what?" I asked jokingly and nudged his shoulder. My brother had always been the more secretive of the two of us. In our youth he kept to the background but always had the same loyal friends in the village. Today Nordheim was still his and my home.

Benni had followed in Father's footsteps as a winemaker and wanted to expand the winery he had taken over from him. So far he was doing well. As for me, I was starting my own demolition business. At the moment it looked as if I would take on the preparatory work at construction sites. That would be enough for me. The main thing was that my excavator paid off and that I could expand my business in the coming years.

"Now tell me, why can't I do earthworks there?"

My brother continued to hesitate and looked around. He frowned, which deepened the lines of anger on his brow. We stood on the road in front of his yard, in whose ground floor our parents had lived until recently. They had moved to a ground-floor apartment in Volkach after my father had a workplace accident. During a turning maneuver with the forklift he had knocked a pallet off a high shelf. The collision threw my father and his vehicle to the side. In the process he had injured several vertebrae and had to take strong painkillers daily.

"Let's go inside," he suggested without looking at me, and headed straight for the wooden porch. I had to hurry to keep up with him.

The key ring jingled as he unlocked the door. Shortly after, he pushed the door open with his muscular hand, which resembled a paw. Benni went inside. I followed him and closed the door with just the right momentum to let it glide softly into the lock. Some things you never unlearn.

In the hallway of our parents' house my brother stopped. The light tiles looked dark because the only daylight came through the frosted pane set into the front door.

We looked at each other, and for the first time I noticed how quiet the hallway could be. I waited for an answer.

"Not exactly," Benni mumbled, running his hand through his three-day stubble and then rubbing his neck. He looked pale beneath his brown unruly mop of hair.

"What do you mean? Come on, spill it! I don't have all day. I'm picking up the machine tomorrow morning."

"Okay, listen." He made sure I had closed the door and began.

"I'll only tell you what's necessary … Do you remember when the police were looking for that missing Serbian seasonal worker? He was employed by the Steiners."

"That was almost half a year ago. But yes, the guy had wanted to be paid upfront and then simply didn't show up? I think he went into hiding," I offered my suspicion.

Benni wrung his hands and stared at his feet. It was obvious how uncomfortable he felt. Finally he said, "Back then I had bought a new fermentation tank with equipment … One night I had to go to the toilet and saw light shining through the plastic cladding of the hall. A little later I heard a rumbling. With all the new purchases I was already paranoid. I was worried that thieves were at work. So I lay in wait in front of the workshop with the big baton flashlight. Eventually someone came out, and I hit him hard. He then lay motionless on the ground. I hadn't expected to have hit him so hard ..."

"Oh shit! He wasn't alive anymore?"

"No."

I inhaled sharply and leaned against the stair railing beside me. Its metal gave with a squeak and reminded me of the weight I'd gained, which I urgently needed to do something about.

“Why didn’t you get help?”

“I could still take him away myself that same night.”

“That’s not what I meant, man! Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I couldn’t. If I became noticeable again, I’d never get shared custody of Melissa.”

Benni’s daughter Melissa had moved in with him at the separation from his ex. Since my brother hadn’t been very restrained in disputes with his then-partner, he wasn’t allowed to see her or their daughter for the following years.

“Dude, are you serious? You don’t want me to dig because you killed someone and buried them?”

Benni made a face.

“I had no choice! I want Melissa to go to elementary school in Sommerach. That’s in three years. Please, Mark, don’t betray me. Otherwise I’ll never see the little one again!”

“I need a drink, and a strong one,” I said.

My older brother obliged, led me into the kitchen and put a quince schnapps in front of me. I collapsed onto one of the chairs around the kitchen table and downed the schnapps. It helped me think clearly.

“You have two days to turn yourself in. If I don’t do the earthwork, someone else will take over. You must go to the police. That will mitigate your sentence.”

Benni looked as if I had slapped him in the face.

“You want to betray your own brother?”

Was he trying to make me feel guilty?

“No, I won’t betray you. But otherwise it won’t be long until the police knock on your door and question you. After all, you live only two parallel streets away. How sure are you that you weren’t seen during the... disposal?”

I ran the different scenarios through my head. Meanwhile I fidgeted with the tips of the stiff white crocheted tablecloth our mother had left. What would she say if she could hear this conversation? Had Benni thought of her too?

“I walked the wheelbarrow past the houses. At that time the ground on the property was loosened in places from taking soil samples. A man was outside on the neighboring lot smoking and maybe put two and two together.”

That Benni had carried out the action so thoughtlessly back then had to be due to his shock. I couldn’t explain his behavior otherwise.

I’d heard enough and had to get out of the kitchen.

“You have two days. I can postpone the big work for that long.” I stood up. My brother did the same. He had tears in his eyes by now.

“No, no, no! This can’t be true!” he said, shaking his head, raising his hands and raking his hair. Then he came to me and grabbed my arm. “Please, Mark, let’s think again about what else we can do. Maybe dig it up?”

“Somewhere in Serbia a mother, a wife and maybe even children miss their loved one who came to Germany to earn money. Go to the police and turn yourself in. Then at least his family will have certainty.”

With those words I freed myself from his grip and ran to the front door. Outside I got into my car and drove the short kilometer to my home.

My big brother was really in deep shit this time. I felt miserable about putting more pressure on him and wished I could undo the conversation. A small part of me hoped he would dig up the corpse and move it elsewhere.

When I woke the next morning with the first rays of sunshine, the memories of the previous day crashed over me. Even a look out the window at the castle-like Vogelsburg above Nordheim did not distract me. The same went for the hum of traffic on the road in front of my house. Tourists in coaches as well as combines and tractors with trailers made autumn a high season.

The grape harvest was in full swing, and the village was as busy as an anthill.

I turned to my still-sleeping girlfriend and wondered what she would say if she knew about my brother's deed. She would surely lecture me, urging me to help him dispose of the body.

I weighed whether I should tell her about my predicament and ultimately decided to remain silent. Ignorance would be a blessing for her. I was sure of that.

Suddenly my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I glanced at the display. A small banner showed me an SMS from the campsite landlord in Volkach. He was now at the grounds to unlock the gate. As I already had the device in my hand, I noticed several missed calls and desperate messages from my brother, all sounding similar to the last: “Please, Mark, Mom would never forgive me.”

At least he was thinking of her too. I paused for a moment until the display dimmed and my pensive face stared back at me. My dark blond hair, which reached just below my ears, was tousled, and my dark brown eyes drew attention away from the scar under my nose. I had gotten that when I pulled my trapped father out from under the forklift on the day of his accident.

Quick into the shower before the memory takes shape further, I thought.

When I drove to the building site with the excavator around noon, the client was not there yet. I stayed in my machine and surveyed the lot. It was building land on the edge of Nordheim on a little-used road in an otherwise quiet neighborhood.

Opposite was an open field, and beyond that the Main flowed through the idyllic landscape. Half of the plot was planted with rows of vines. The rest of the area was empty and level. Between the vines I had discovered a few days earlier an oval spot about two meters long where the soil looked fresher than the rest. Now that I knew what had happened, I asked myself whether that was the grave?

A shiver ran down my spine. I drove my machine onto the lot and switched off the engine to give myself another moment of calm.

My hands, resting on the steering wheel, trembled and my pulse raced. Then, when someone unexpectedly struck my vehicle, it accelerated further. I flinched and looked down through the window.

Mr. Domeier, the client, stood beside my excavator holding a spade that had caused the unpleasant sound.

“Servus, everything all right in there?” came muffled into the cab.

I opened the driver's door and climbed down to the man, who was wearing gray rubber boots, a fleece jacket and a sports cap. My services had been recommended to him. That pleased me especially: my excavation work was not yet well known in the region. It seemed someone had wanted to do me a favor by recommending me. They had succeeded; Mr. Domeier's planned project was to be extravagant, so I had slightly raised my hourly rate.

“Good morning. Yes, everything's in order. I was just wondering whether there will be a frost next week.”

“I don't think so. And if there is-let's get started.”

Over the next fifteen minutes we discussed the first steps while little clouds of steam rose from the coffee in Mr. Domeier's aluminum thermos into our cups.

When the truck for the excavated earth arrived, I started my work. I decided to leave removing the vines until last and to begin slowly on the fallow part with the trenching for laying pipes and cables. It thus took more than two hours to carefully complete the first diggings.

Meanwhile my thoughts kept returning to my brother, and even more often I checked my phone. It showed no further messages. Had he gone to the police?

Tomorrow morning I would start the major work and open every square meter so the crew could spread gravel and run the vibrating plate over it. That meant the body would be found by then …

“You're so quiet. Is everything all right?” my girlfriend Carolin asked me that evening with a frown. We sat on the bench in the kitchen of my house and were silent.

“Yes,” I answered unconvincingly. I had barely touched my sandwich with pulled meat, because my stomach felt worse than queasy.

“It doesn't look like it. Did something go wrong at the construction site today?” she asked. Caro simply knew me too well. We'd been a couple for seven years. She knew my parents, my brother and even his ex-wife and daughter.

“Sort of …”

“What happened?” she pressed, pouring herself some orange juice into a glass. Her short blond hair was sticking up a bit today thanks to hair gel and revealed her tattoos on the nape of her neck.

I wondered again whether I should tell her everything. I actually wanted to keep her out of it. If I made her an unwitting accomplice and the police questioned her, we'd both have a much bigger problem.

"I can't talk about it."

"Caro, really, it has nothing to do with you or us. My brother has gotten himself into a bad situation. I'd like to help him, but I can't. This is something between him and me."

"You've acted like that before. Back then after the wine festival," she reminded me in a sour tone.

A few years ago at the village wine festival I had drunk too much. I had had a great time with a very attractive colleague whom I otherwise only saw in the copy room. I had taken my chance to get to know her better, and we got on famously. In our tipsy revelry we moved on after the brass band finished to a bar in Volkach, where we spent the rest of the time making out. When I was sober again the next morning, I realized I had to decide.

I had chosen my girlfriend. The flirtation with the colleague had seemed too uncertain. That decision-making had taken a day, and my mood had been accordingly thoughtful and downcast-like today.

"Can we please not talk about the festival anymore? I'll tell you everything in two weeks at the latest. By then it will have been resolved," I said confidently and bit decisively into my bread.

"Okay. Agreed. But can you assure me you haven't screwed up again? Secret flirts, burner phones and that sort of thing?"

Caro really wanted to know. I shook my head.

"No, my dear, I swear to you, I have nothing going on with other women."

That I lifted my free hand innocently as I said this distracted from my legs, which immediately crossed under the table.

The next morning I woke up feeling even worse than I already had. I decided to make a plan and take advantage of the options available to me.

I didn't want Benni to end up in prison. Although I believed he should actually take responsibility for his deed, it would be a scandal for our mother. Since childhood she had done everything to make sure we followed rules and laws and were liked in the village. She did that because, as a member of the management of the local winemakers' cooperative, she was highly respected. Her job meant everything to her, and she was very proud to be so successful in this male-dominated field. The newspaper regularly reported on her and her work. She was a minor celebrity. If one of her sons were charged with murder, it would not only end her career but also ruin her reputation. If I could prevent that, I had to do it.

I ruled out the option of not digging and leaving the field to someone else. The corpse would be found one way or another. It was better that I found it.

Since my brother had most likely been seen and had probably accidentally left traces on the corpse, the police would quickly come to him. After all, he was known to the police. There was also Caro. Even if our relationship sometimes ran rough, I wanted to keep her as my partner. She was quick-witted and knew what she wanted. However, she wouldn't stay with me if I were prosecuted as an accomplice and had excluded her.

Shit, I thought. The only solution is to bring Caro in on it and make the corpse disappear. No one would go to prison, Caro would stay with me, my brother could see Melissa again soon and my mother would be uninvolved. Provided we aren't discovered.

Thinking through how nicely everything could fit together if Benni dug up the body and made it disappear again, relief spread through me. I had to persuade him. Almost elated I wrote my brother the message: Let's meet again.

I turned to Caro, who woke from my sudden movement.

"I'll tell you."

When my brother, Caro and I were sitting at my kitchen table about an hour later, we looked at each other questioningly. Finally Benni spoke with a serious expression.

"No matter how this turns out, I promise you I won't betray you as accomplices."

Believing those words seemed very tempting.

"Okay, let's just hope for the best," Caro said. Her reaction that morning had evolved from disbelief to shock to rationality. To my surprise she hadn't fled. Instead she now thought possible scenarios aloud and repeatedly came to the conclusion that the body absolutely had to be dug up and burned.

"I have to be at the property in two hours. What do we do?" I tried to apply pressure.

"We need a little more time. You can probably cancel for today due to illness or an emergency, right?", my brother asked.

"Yes, I can do that...", I muttered and took out my phone. I dialed Mr. Domeier's number, sounded sniffly and postponed the excavation work until the next day. He wasn't pleased, but too polite to give me a snide remark.

"So, let's get to work. Who's going to dig up the corpse?", Caro's voice boomed through my kitchen. "I'd do it, but I think I lack the necessary strength."

She was right. Although Caro was athletic, we didn't want to burden her with a body of about eighty kilograms. Besides, she was the least involved in the matter.

Before I could say that my brother should dig up the body, he said: "If the person is seen, it's best that their presence on the property makes sense and appears natural..."

"We can do it at night," I suggested, ignoring Benni's statement.

"If someone is seen with a wheelbarrow at night, it's really conspicuous, Mark," he objected. "As I said, being there during the day should be self-explanatory to avoid attracting attention..."

It dawned on me that, by his argument, I was the most suitable person.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not doing it! But I can register you as my helper," I suggested to my brother. "Then you can move around the property inconspicuously, fiddle around there and won't seem suspicious."

"If we get caught, there should be as few of us on site as possible. Don't you think?", Caro chimed in.

Benni nodded and said: "The idea of the helper is good, but I think Caro's point is more serious."

They were right. I had to admit it. This wasn't about preferences, but about everything or nothing. I was silent for a moment and searched for a better idea. I couldn't think of one.

"Alright, but I want your word that you'll get me out of this and confess if it goes wrong," I forced myself to concede. At least then the success of the operation depended on me, and my brother couldn't mess it up again.

He assured me: "Yes, I give you my word."

Still, the queasy feeling in my stomach remained. Benni seemed to notice and tried to calm me. "Let's record the whole thing on video on the phone," he said, pulling his smartphone out of his pocket.

After he started recording in selfie mode, he looked into the camera and said: "I, Benjamin Holzner, have killed and buried a Serbian harvest worker. My brother, Mark Holzner, is helping me dig up the body because I pressured him into it. He is not at fault."

Then he ended the video, sent it to me via messenger and put his phone away. The vibration of my phone completely reassured me. If everything went wrong, I would have video evidence.

I poured coffee for all of us, and we feverishly considered when I could dig up the dead man's body and with what pretext.

"It has to look natural," Caro said.

"Are you ever alone on the construction site?", my brother asked.

"Yes, in the mornings and afternoons. The client comes by in the mornings and evenings. Sometimes during the lunch break as well. As far as I know," I answered. Mr. Domeier worked as a lawyer at a firm in Kitzingen and liked to check on the progress. I had already been able to glean that from our conversations.

"Then it's simple. We'll place a wheelbarrow and a trailer with a few shell limestone blocks and a tarp at the roadside. You dig until you find the body. Then load it into the barrow, wheel it to the trailer, unload it and stretch the tarp over it. Then keep digging as if nothing happened, and during lunch break take your shell limestone blocks away."

My brother's execution plan did indeed sound simple and doable. Using the shell limestone blocks as a pretext to justify the trailer at the roadside seemed clever to me.

I remained skeptical. "And what am I supposed to tell the client? I found the stones so beautiful?"

"You just say that you'll keep the shell limestone blocks for personal use. Babble something about edging for your garden pond if you must."

I had to give him that: the lies came easily to his lips.

“What condition is the corpse in? Will it fall apart when I dig it up?” I wanted to know.

Benni replied nonchalantly, “I wrapped it several times. It should still be in one piece.”

Caro nodded to my brother and looked at him with a steady gaze. She seemed completely convinced of the idea and didn’t doubt it for a minute. Neither the plan nor me. Her trust in me was a real declaration of love.

In the afternoon we talked the plan through several times in all its details and moved on to the practical part: we emptied my freezer and put together some bulky waste I wanted to get rid of anyway. My brother brought a trailer from his place that was loaded with the wheelbarrow and the Muschelkalk stones. Caro rode along with him to help carry, and I rummaged in my shed for a large tarp. While the two of them tied the tarp to the trailer in my small yard behind the house, I placed the limestone blocks on it. With this equipment our mission had to be doable without drawing attention. Finally we loaded the small excavator bucket with Benni’s forklift.

In 24 hours it would all be over. As soon as I arrived home with the corpse on the trailer, I would meet my brother and Caro. They would help me heave the body into the freezer. We decided to store the corpse there for the time being and, two days later-when the body was frozen-take the freezer away from my property with more junk.

What wouldn’t you do for family, I thought that evening. My girlfriend was at sports again, and I sat helpless on my couch. If everything went well, my brother would owe me a favor. That much was clear.

The next morning I poured coffee for myself and my accomplice with a slightly trembling hand. Today it started. In my head I prepared for possible curious questions to nip any suspicion in the bud if someone approached me.

When I stopped my car with the small trailer in front of the property, the builder still wasn’t there. I loosened the tarp and pushed it aside a bit so I could quickly throw it over the load and thus over my questionable cargo. I lifted the wheelbarrow off the trailer and wheeled it to the spot where I would later dig the body out of the ground. Benni had told me the exact place on Google Maps last night where he had buried the body a few months ago.

I climbed onto my giant with heavy steps and started the engine. Then I rammed the shovel into the ground at the point where I had stopped two days earlier and waited while digging for Mr. Domeier.

He showed up around nine. After asking about my health and today’s plans, I briefly informed him of my wish to keep the Muschelkalk stones. He agreed and drove off again. So far, so good.

I had arranged with Caro and Benni that I should arrive at my house at noon. That way my disappearance would look like a normal lunch break. Until then my girlfriend would run down the street in workout clothes a few times and wave to me once the neighbors to the left and right had pulled out of their driveways. She would also listen to see if the winegrowers with their tractors were coming down the road and warn me in time if so.

As soon as my client’s car was out of sight, I swapped the large shovel for the smaller one I had brought. Then I rolled my machine to the spot where I had found the fresh soil two days earlier. One last time I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants and tentatively began removing the earth next to that spot.

I had seen Caro twice on the road so far and expected her third appearance and a wave at any moment. It took no more than fifteen minutes when she jogged past as agreed with her hair bouncing and waved to me in my cab. Now utmost caution was required.

I made sure no one was nearby and got to work on the mentioned spot. According to Benni the object lay just under a meter beneath the surface, which meant I would need about two shovel loads to reach it.

My shovel closed around the first load of dark earth; there was no sign of the blue tarp the corpse had been wrapped in. Slowly I let the earth fall back where it belonged and swung the boom back. Although with a lot of practice you can dig very precisely, one piece of information is still missing: because of the massive bucket you don’t feel resistance unless it’s extremely hard or large and the bucket stays open. So it was impossible to feel a body.

I lifted the second shovel load of earth, and suddenly something blue flashed in the soil. I looked around again. I was alone. I took a deep breath and held it for the next step; the moment had come.

I opened the bucket above the blue corner, dug half a meter below it and carefully lifted it up with its contents. A longish package rested in my metal gripper; there was very little earth around it. I could put the corpse directly into the wheelbarrow. It couldn’t have gone better.

After skillfully preventing the wheelbarrow from tipping while loading, I left the excavator running so no neighbor would notice a change in the soundscape. Then I left the cab. With slightly shaky legs I grabbed the handles of the transport and pushed it across the property to the trailer. The hum of the construction machine filled the air. The street was empty. I could hardly believe my luck.

The lowered ramp clattered as I pushed my load up it in the wheelbarrow. Once up, I set the body down. With a dull thud it plopped onto the loading surface. I then moved quickly back to the ground. From there I threw the tarp over the plastic sack and fastened it. When my task was done I climbed back onto the excavator and dug around aimlessly to get my breathing and body temperature back under control.

The final hurdle pulled up at 11:30 in a fancy BMW: Mr. Domeier wanted, as usual, to inquire about progress and eyed the tarp-covered trailer suspiciously. I sensed the danger and hurried to be with him before he could look underneath.

“Why the tarp? It’s not even raining.”

“Sometimes wind from driving kicks up some sand from the stones.”

“Oh, right, sure. Have you found enough for your garden pond?” he asked, referring to our brief conversation this morning.

“I have, thank you. I’ll take a break now. Will you come by again this evening?”

“Yes, shortly after work. The colleagues with the mini-excavator are coming too. It would be good if you were there as well.”

“Yes, no problem. See you later,” I replied and felt the heat rising in me again. I got into my car and drove off with the trailer.

When I turned into the street to my yard, an enormous weight lifted from my shoulders. The corpse had been recovered. My part was done. My brother was largely responsible for the disposal.

I gently applied the brakes to slow the car and drove up my driveway. I brought my rig to a stop in the yard. Then I moved to the front door and unlocked it.

“Hello, I’m back. Everything has –”

I was abruptly interrupted by the appearance of a man in uniform I didn’t know. My girlfriend appeared behind him in the doorframe.

“Hello, Mark,” she said quickly and urgently, “while you were gone, the police came by. They received a tip and are following it up. It concerns the missing harvest worker of Serbian descent.”

My heart missed a beat. Had someone seen or overheard us?

“Hello,” I greeted the bald man with a dry mouth and shook his hand. “I’m Mark Holzner. I’m sure I told my colleague everything back then.”

“Hello, Mr. Holzner, I’m Walter Fromm, senior police commissioner of the Kitzingen police station,” he introduced himself.

Another policewoman entered the hallway, introduced herself to me as well and added: “The tip your girlfriend mentioned points directly to you, Mr. Holzner.”

Oh my God, this cannot be true!

“Ah, that is strange. And how can I help you?”

“Let’s go outside,” Mr. Fromm suggested.

“Of course. May I quickly use the restroom? I just sat on the excavator for four hours.”

“No problem.”

In the bathroom I looked into the mirror. My dark eyes were widened with fright. Sweat stood on my forehead and above my upper lip, although I was only wearing a sweater. My thoughts raced. Where the hell was my brother? I sent him a message.

“Where are you?!! We have visitors!”

I didn’t have time to wait any longer for his answer. Several minutes had passed, and in the hallway, right outside the guest bathroom door, they were waiting for me. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I made the greatest effort to appear relaxed.

“Shall we sit in the kitchen?” I asked, feigning forgetfulness.

“No, we would like to look around your yard,” Senior Commissioner Fromm said decisively. So our small group moved down the hallway. Every step felt unbearably heavy.

I hoped for a miracle. Outside in the drizzle, Officer Braun asked a few inconsequential questions about me and my work. Then she turned away from me toward the trailer, at which her colleague was already showing lively interest.

“Is that your trailer?” she asked, narrowing her eyes as if she could see through the tarp.

I was torn between confessing everything and betraying my brother. But then I thought of the promise he had made me and of our mother.

“No, it belongs to my brother, Benjamin Holzner. I borrowed it to transport some shell-limestone stones for my garden from my current construction site. Would you like to see my garden pond?”

“Aha. No, thank you. But may we take a look under the tarp?” Commissioner Braun sounded anything but grateful.

All confidence must have vanished from my face, for she took a triumphant large step toward the trailer.

“No, I don’t want that,” I quickly interjected.

The commissioner came to an abrupt halt. She studied me skeptically and raised an eyebrow. Then she said, “Mr. Holzner, that looks suspicious to me. If I were you, I’d let us look under it and not obstruct the investigation.”

Was that a threat? From various crime novels I knew that obstructing justice was a criminal offense. That also applied to disposing of a body, didn’t it?

Caro came to my aid by chiming in, “Don’t you need a search warrant or something for that?”

“Yes, we can get that in no time. The prosecutor has several appointments at headquarters today,” replied Chief Inspector Fromm.

“Are you sticking with your no?” Commissioner Braun countered. She kept both me and Caro in her sight.

“I think so. You’re welcome to come back,” I ended the conversation and hoped my brother would somehow come to my aid. But he wasn’t there.

The two officers climbed into their dark car with Kitzingen plates and sped off. They left Caro and me frozen in shock. Wordlessly we went into the house and sat at the kitchen table.

“Are you involved in this?” I asked my friend directly.

She planted her hands on the tabletop and said loudly, “Do you really believe that?! I spoke so highly of you, as if you were a saint. I sent Benni numerous messages on the side and even called him from the toilet. He’s vanished into thin air. Let’s see if we can get hold of him before the cops show up again.”

“And what about the corpse? Come on, let’s pack it into the freezer and drive the trailer back to Benni. He has to be somewhere,” I replied angrily. I could barely restrain myself from raising my voice at her.

Loading the corpse would have been decidedly easier with my brother. Caro maneuvered the trailer and I hauled the lifeless body into the freezer. All of this took place in my workshop so passersby wouldn’t notice our plan. I actually placed the shell limestone by my garden pond behind the house. The time pressure was getting to me. I’ve always had trouble devising a plan under stress and prioritizing urgent tasks.

As Caro and I sat in the car searching for my brother, my nerves were frayed and a thousand questions raced through my head. Who had tipped off the police? Was it a coincidence? Had Benni betrayed himself? Or-something I could hardly imagine-was he trying to pin the murder on me? I didn’t think him that cunning. But I couldn’t rule it out entirely.

The yard of our childhood home looked swept clean. We left the trailer at the edge. I had the spare key to Benni’s house with me. Caro and I searched the living rooms, his hall including the workshop, the basement and the garden pavilion. There was no sign of my brother. We met again at the front door, which he had opened so innocently for me only a few days earlier. Now everything felt like an endless nightmare.

“Let’s go to the police,” burst out of me. I remembered the video Benni had sent me. It sparked new hope in me. I saw Caro’s horrified look and continued: “Something is clearly off here. He tricked us and ran off. In the worst case he went to the police and pretends the murder and the digging were my doing. Fuck, Caro, we have to get ahead of him or at least do something while we still can.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Caro was pale and looked ill. “I’ll go to the bathroom for a moment. Call him again!” she called to me before stumbling down the hallway of my parents’ house and disappearing.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and tried to steady my trembling fingers. I took deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. It was in vain. Instead of dialing his number again, I wanted to find the evidence video. It had to be the most recently added item in my photo gallery. But it wasn’t there.

I searched all albums, downloads, archived files and even the WhatsApp chat. There only a blurred image appeared instead of the video. Someone had deleted the file from my phone.

My insides clenched painfully when the realization hit me: Caro was the only one who could have tampered with my phone unnoticed. Or had I left it unattended in Benni’s presence? I couldn’t remember that in the moment. Someone was playing a dirty game, that much was clear.

My friend hadn’t returned yet. Without hesitation I opened my car door, stuck the key in the ignition and tore out of the yard. I wanted to beat my brother and possibly Caro to it before I was arrested. If the search warrant was executed I would be arrested for the body in the freezer. I drove straight to the Kitzingen police station.

The twenty-minute drive forced me to get my nerves under control. I couldn’t-or rather wouldn’t-believe what I’d gotten myself into. I also thought about how I might have noticed a betrayal. But there was no time for that, the clock was ticking. If my brother had indeed gone into hiding, my friend would be alarmed by my disappearance and likely do the same. I had to save my ass.

I practically ran up the steps to the main entrance of the police station and went to the front desk.

“My name is Mark Holzner. Your colleagues Mr. Fromm and Ms. Braun were at my place today. I would like to speak with both of them.”

“One moment. In the meantime, please fill out this form,” replied the young woman behind the counter boredly and handed me a sheet of paper and a pen.

I sat down in a corridor section converted into a waiting room and jumped up again immediately. Too much adrenaline rushed through my body. After I had scribbled my personal details and the reason for my visit on the paper, Ms. Braun appeared in the doorway.

“Hello, Mr. Holzner, that was quick. Please come with me so we can talk undisturbed.”

Had I just seen a smile on her face? I almost burst with the urge to talk and let it loose as soon as I took the cold chair in the interrogation room. I told everything Benni had told me in feigned confidence. Ms. Braun took notes and interrupted me now and then to get details.

Continuation of “Under the Vines”

When I had disclosed all the information two days earlier, I was taken into custody immediately. I then informed my lawyer, Dr. Karl Kramp, of everything. It was the most sensible thing I could have done to mitigate the severity of the situation. Dr. Kramp agreed.

During the remand, I was in a small cell that temporarily became my home while I longingly awaited my brother’s arrest. His statements or those of witnesses were crucial to convict him. Otherwise it was up to me to convince the justice system of my innocence by providing conclusive evidence of my absence from the crime scene. The exact determination of the time of the crime remained unclear, however, which made presenting an alibi considerably more difficult.

The officers searched Benni’s property and his usual haunts. But my brother kept hidden. More and more I feared that he had managed to pin the murder on me. Or was it manslaughter? I didn’t know. What I did know was that years in prison awaited me.

With every hour my self-reproach increased, my guilt toward my mother and also the anger at Benni and Caro. Had Benni ensured that I got the digger job? Was he in cahoots with Caro? Had I committed other wrongs besides the slip-up at the wine festival? Strictly speaking the answer was yes. I had cheated on my girlfriend several times over the past years with short-lived affairs. However, it was almost impossible to uncover any of my lovers.

When I received visitors in Würzburg prison on the third day, I was more pleased than ever to see Chief Inspector Fromm and Inspector Braun.

“Hello, Mr. Holzner. There are new developments we would like to discuss with you. Your lawyer has done his homework. He will be here in a few minutes. The same goes for the prosecutor. A representative of the Serbian family who is missing their relative already arrived yesterday.”

The enumeration made me freeze. In my cell I had constantly played through how things might proceed. That the relatives of the Serbian man would be informed had not entered my thoughts. But of course it was obvious: this was still about a person whose disappearance was being clarified. I was only a supporting actor.

“Please take a seat,” Inspector Braun asked me. She sat at the longer side of the gray conference table and offered me the chair opposite. Chief Inspector Fromm was already seated at Braun’s side. The interrogation room of the Würzburg prison was designed to be brighter and thus not as oppressive as the one in Kitzingen. I was offered a glass of water and had the handcuffs removed. Then we waited in silence for the prosecutor. My counsel, Dr. Kramp, had arrived in the meantime and sat down beside me. I longed to speak with him calmly and assess the latest state of the investigation.

That would have to wait until after the interrogation. With a clink and a short thud the door to our room was opened. The prosecutor, dressed in a dark suit, entered and closed the door softly behind him. He seemed to know the premises and radiated confidence and determination. Mr. Pozniak, as he introduced himself to me, then went to the police officers and shook their hands with a smile. He then sat down on the free chair next to Ms. Braun, so that we formed two fronts and the ends of the table remained free.

“Mr. Holzner, I would like to update you on the state of the investigation after the formalities just completed. In between we will ask you a few questions. I appreciate your cooperation and must also praise your assistance once,” Chief Inspector Fromm began the main part of our meeting.

“Thank you,” I said, suppressing a dejected sigh.

“We have searched your residence, your workshop and your digger. What do you think we were able to secure as evidence?” Ms. Braun asked.

Evidence on my property?, flashed through my mind.

“None. I have nothing to do with the murder. That was my brother. I dug up the corpse and stored it in the chest. Nothing more,” I said for what felt like the hundredth time.

“We found a bloodstained flashlight. The murder weapon, as you told us. How did this find its way into your workshop?”

My blood ran cold. Benni hadn’t even cleaned and put the flashlight away? A silence fell over the room.

I found my voice again, which sounded brittle when I said, “He seems to have planned it in advance …”

“Pardon?” replied Ms. Braun.

“My brother. He planted the flashlight on me back then. From the start he intended to frame me for the murder,” I uttered the unbelievable. At the same time I suspected that he had placed my DNA on it with Caro’s help.

“So you knew about that very thing since the murder?”

"No. I have known about it since our conversation a week ago."

Sometimes I felt Mrs. Braun was deliberately misunderstanding me.

She took notes on her little notepad and then closed it again-a gesture she repeated constantly during the interview so the writing would remain secret. The prosecutor did not flinch. My lawyer's expression suggested slight shock. Either because of my relative's brazenness or because of Mrs. Braun's attempt to extract withheld information from me.

"Because of your excavation business you had company sweatshirts made. Is that correct?", Mr. Fromm suddenly asked.

Surprised by the change of subject I stammered, "Yes, with my logo on the back. I gave one to friends and kept about ten myself."

"We found one of them with bloodstains in your workshop."

Benni, that asshole!

"Yes, that will have been Benni. Or Caro. The two of them have access to my workshop. Did you also find anything in my house?", I asked. I wanted to know how treacherous the two really were.

"Should we?", Mr. Fromm asked without answering my question.

I shook my head vehemently.

"The examined blood belongs to the victim. The evidence is incriminating, Mr. Holzner. Your brother is still missing, and your ex-girlfriend is implicating you. Do you also know anything that could help us or rather help you?", the chief inspector wanted to know. He seemed to believe in my innocence regarding the murder.

"Not really. I just can't believe how cold they are," I expressed my horror and looked at the tabletop in front of me. So she had learned about my affairs after all and wanted to get revenge on me.

I reflected once more and recalled the conversation that had started everything. The looks of the prosecutor and my defense attorney weighed on me.

"I remember something!", I suddenly cried out. "Benni mentioned a neighbor who had seen him with the wheelbarrow. Maybe he can help! He was outside smoking."

It was a glimmer of hope, if that witness actually existed. Mrs. Braun seemed less euphoric when she said, "We'll do that. Do you know the name?"

I denied knowing the name. The commissioner took notes again. With every passing moment she became less likeable to me.

"Let's come to the microtraces. Your DNA was found on the corpse and on the murder weapon. How do you explain that?"

"That can't be. I didn't even see the body! You must find Benni. He made it look like I was the guilty one! Or put Caro under pressure! She knows more than she admits."

"Well, you have already confessed to the digging. You are therefore already guilty of an offence," the policewoman reminded me.

"What does Caro say about the allegations?", I wanted to know. Maybe she could be exposed as lying if she were interrogated for longer.

"She implicates you. Ms. Stemper reports domestic violence and other, let's say, disharmonies in your relationship. She believed you capable of murder and apparently had a suspicion. She did not address it out of fear of you. For the same reason she did not go to the police."

"Excuse me? She personally helped me shove the corpse into the freezer!"

"We could not detect any traces of your ex-girlfriend on the corpse."

It felt like a bad joke. Was the situation really that hopeless?

Dr. Kramp intervened. "The missing-person report was filed only one week after the victim was last seen. If a witness is found who can name the exact time of the crime, Mr. Holzner could present a possible alibi. At present the time span into which the crime falls is held too wide..."

He straightened up at these words and immediately seemed a few centimeters taller than he actually was. “I see this as a real chance to relieve my client in this regard. Is that correct, Chief Inspector Fromm?”

“That is correct. I would latch onto that chance, Mr. Holzner,” he said, turning to me.

Nausea spread through my stomach again. I said nothing, but glanced at Mr. Pozniak, the public prosecutor. Despite his role as a listener, he occupied the room.

Finally he said, “Remember that your cooperation can mean the difference between a life sentence and a reduced sentence. If you want to tell us anything further, now would be the right time.”

The pressure was immense. I wished I could add something to everything. But that was not the case.

The interrogation was then concluded. My lawyer and I stayed behind and discussed the remaining options to get me out of this predicament. It quickly became clear that finding my brother would not mean salvation either. If he stayed silent or even implicated me, years behind bars would be more certain than ever. We focused on finding potential witnesses and hoping I could provide an alibi.

At the time of the murder I had long since left my old employer and had spent a lot of time working from my home office. Therefore my task in the coming days was to write down all appointments and places I had visited in the first week of May. Then we would have to find witnesses. My lawyer-or Karl, as I was allowed to call him from then on-would put pressure on the police and have the neighbors of the property questioned. If we found an overlap, it could at least partially exonerate me. Reluctantly I said goodbye to my counsel and was taken back to my cell.

Already the next day Karl entered the prison again. He brought me the sobering news that the house where the possible witness lived had been equipped with holiday apartments.

I threw my hands over my head. Nordheim offered its guests numerous holiday apartments and whole houses so they could experience village life firsthand. Guest rooms at wineries were particularly popular.

“Mark, we’re doing everything to bring the truth to light,” Karl encouraged me as he sat opposite me in the visiting room and I slid him my notes from the first week of May. He pressed his thin lips together and forced a smile that didn’t quite succeed. He was wearing a dark shirt and light fabric trousers that did not reveal his profession. But it wasn’t only his clothing that made him likable to me. From the start of my assignment he had kept his word and firmly believed in my partial innocence.

He began to read the notes in his hand. When he reached the end of the page he smiled with relief, raised his head and noticed my questioning look.

“Thanks. These look very detailed. By the way, there’s news. I learned this morning that Benni has been caught.”

“Oh my God! What does he say?” I straightened on the hard wooden chair.

“What I know confirms our suspicion. He implicates you. I was not yet allowed to learn the details.”

“I never would have thought he was so nasty. Sure, this and that illegal thing. But to destroy our family in this way?”

“I haven’t come across a case like this before either.”

“What does it mean if he now implicates me?”

“The police will investigate in all directions. I can’t tell you how they will interpret the evidence. At least it paints a contradictory picture. If he has done everything neatly, statements and evidence will point to your guilt. What motive could he have?”

“Shit. I can only assume it’s about our parents’ inheritance. If he got rid of me, more would remain for him. He wouldn’t have to pay me off.”

“Inheritance is a common point of dispute. In that sense you can be glad you didn’t have to put your faith in him,” Karl replied with a dismissive look and shrugged. A chill ran down my spine. He was right: Benni obviously went over dead bodies.

My advocate added, “The police are currently working intensively on your case. The newspapers have picked it up as well. When I was at the scene earlier, people were standing on the property and crowding the cordon to gawk. The uproar among the Nordheim locals and the tourists is so great that the police have cordoned off the whole street.”

“So there’s nothing left for us to do but wait?” I asked.

“That’s how it looks.”

Karl and I said goodbye with a handshake that I could only return with difficulty.

The days in the cell dragged on endlessly, each day resembling the next-a constant waiting, hoping and fearing. When my lawyer returned to Würzburg prison a week later, his expression was cautiously optimistic. Nevertheless there was a trace of exhaustion in his eyes that testified to a long, arduous search.

"There is good news," he said and sat down opposite me. His smile was strained, as if the words he spoke had been hard-won. "They had trouble finding the smoking neighbor. You remember, the possible witness Benni had mentioned?"

I nodded. Of course I remembered.

"The house Benni had talked about was full of holiday guests that week. There was a constant coming and going. It was complicated, but the police eventually compiled a list of all the guests who had been there that week."

Karl paused briefly and took a sip of water. "It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Each person had to be contacted and questioned. Some guests could hardly remember a specific evening, let alone a person with a wheelbarrow."

He lowered his gaze for a moment before continuing. Excitement flared up inside me. Was my deliverance finally coming? Why was my attorney making it so dramatic?

"In the end they found him a few days ago: a man who remembers exactly. He was outside smoking and could give the exact date and time. It was around 1:10 a.m. on May third."

Karl looked at me directly with his green eyes.

My heart skipped a beat. "1:10 a.m. on May third?" I repeated softly. That was the key. It had been my parents' wedding anniversary, and I remembered the irony of that evening even without my alibi list. "That date... I cheated on Caro. Right after I had texted my parents to wish them a happy anniversary," I said, as a feeling of shame washed through me. Karl nodded, his eyes radiating a mixture of relief and pride.

"Who would have thought that your ex-girlfriend's motive would also be your alibi," he said with a small smile. "The woman you visited confirms you were with her at that time. She even has a video from her door security camera to prove it. Your innocence in the murder is beyond question. The police have since realigned their investigations." Karl leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath after that sentence.

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Definitely. The witness was so surprised that he noted his observation in his diary. Also, Fromm and Braun were very meticulous, as I could tell from their files."

A huge weight lifted from my chest.

"And what does that mean for Benni?" I asked, although I could guess the answer. Despite everything that had happened, I felt sorry for him.

Karl leaned forward again, which showed me how serious the matter was.

"When they found that witness, the focus of the investigation changed dramatically. The police are currently concentrating heavily on Benni and have already found decisive evidence. He also seems to be involved in other crimes."

"What kind of evidence?" I asked. My pulse quickened at the thought of what was coming next for my brother.

"First they examined the flashlight more thoroughly. Benni forgot to remove his fingerprints from the batteries. But that was only the beginning," Karl explained.

"Go on," I urged.

"There were inconsistencies in his statements. They recently reviewed footage from a surveillance camera of the cooperative. But in the recordings you are not visible, as Mrs. Braun initially suspected because of the company's pullover the person is wearing. On closer inspection one can, however, recognize Benni by his slim build. But your brother claimed he had been asleep."

Karl paused. I let the information sink in and remembered the weight of the evidence against me.

"And his DNA, did he leave any anywhere?"

"That was the decisive point. Benni's genetic fingerprint was found in places he cannot explain in his version of events. For example on the inside of the tarp in which the body was wrapped. The forensic team also examined the entrance to his workshop and the sink and found blood traces. It was as if he had tried to remove the splatters. Apparently he was not thorough enough."

I sat there, unable to fully grasp the magnitude of what Karl was saying. My brother, the man I had grown up with, had been playing such a dangerous and deadly game. And I had nearly been his victim.

"What will happen to him?"

"He will be charged with murder or manslaughter. The evidence is clear. His attempt to pin the crime on you has failed. Now he must face his responsibility."

The conversation continued for a while about the technical aspects of the case. Meanwhile my thoughts were somewhere else. I thought of Benni, of our childhood, of the many moments we had shared. And now this. It was as if I had never really known my brother.

Shortly before we said our goodbyes my lawyer said, “There’s one more thing.” He looked me straight in the eye. “Exhuming the body. You confessed to digging it up and keeping it in the freezer. That is a criminal offense.”

I realized that despite my innocence of the murder I would not be completely free of legal consequences.

“What awaits me?”

“We will work toward having your role as an unwitting victim of Benni’s manipulations recognized. Your cooperation with the police and the fact that you acted under his pressure will play a part. Still, there will be a proceeding. You must prepare for it.”

The next days were a mixture of relief and fear of what was to come. When the day of my trial finally arrived I felt as if in a dream. Karl was at my side as we entered the Würzburg courthouse.

The trial that would decide my future began in a tense atmosphere. My lawyer defended me with all the professional competence at his disposal. He painted a picture of a man who had been under the enormous pressure of a manipulative, money-hungry brother who had dragged him into his dark schemes.

But Prosecutor Pozniak, the man with the icy face and sharp gaze, showed no compassion for my situation. He presented me as someone who, despite outside pressure, would have had the choice to act differently. Each of my arguments seemed to bounce off him like raindrops on a windowpane.

When the verdict was announced it was harsher than I had hoped, but milder than it could have been. I received a suspended sentence and the requirement to perform community service. A price I had to pay - not only for my naivety but also for my lack of steadfastness toward my brother.

With mixed feelings I left the courthouse. The freedom returned to me felt bittersweet. Aside from the neighbors whose trust I wanted to regain, there was something urgent I wanted to do: I had to speak with my parents.

The thought of facing them filled me with shame and pain. I had to explain everything to them, answer their questions and support them. It would be the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. Harder even than exhuming the body …