Käterli has enough

Summer was drawing to a close. The small town had celebrated its last open-air classical music festival at the castle on the nearby hill. The weather had been kind. A sea of stars overlooked the final applause and accompanied the many visitors on their way home. They were all happily filled with the beautiful sounds they had listened to for over two hours, as the orchestra and soloists gave several encores. And the music still ringing in the ears probably lulled the concertgoers into a sleep full of beautiful dreams.
Käterli, too, had returned home, intoxicated by the magnificent music and content. Of course, her husband was not there yet; as always on such occasions, he was going his own way. The cold sobriety immediately fell upon Käterli again as she climbed the stairs to the bedroom with a glass of apple juice. A little later, she lay there in the marital bed, pondering with tears in her eyes, up into the dark nothingness. The music had stirred her. Thoughts about her life surfaced in strong waves. This time, she allowed it; until then, she had always fought against it with all her might in such moments.
When she heard the creaking of the wooden stairs, she nimbly turned to the edge of the bed and closed her eyes. She pretended to be asleep. Shortly afterwards, Meinrad, her husband, threw himself into the other side of the bed, snorting as always, and soon began to snore loudly. The smell of alcohol permeated the bedroom. For sure, it had been another turbulent party with some out-of-control scenes. For a while, Käterli listened to her husband’s loud snoring. She had turned onto her back again and was staring into the darkness. Then, suddenly, an obvious realisation dawned on her. Enough. She had simply had enough. She was fifty-two years old and still had a lot of life ahead of her. And she did not want to spend it with a man who was constantly cheating on her. And he took advantage of every opportunity, no matter how small. It had already started sporadically when the two children were in education and still living at home. They had both repeatedly told her, shaking their heads, that she had to confront him so he would stop, because half the city knew about his conquests. However, her pride had not allowed her to stoop to such a low level as to have to endure his senseless and mocking retort. But their affection had long since died, let alone love.
Meinrad was a trained architect and ran a well-known and successful architectural firm. Since he was constantly on the road, his womanising hobby was easy to fit in. Besides the numerous representative events and his men’s nights, there was hardly any time left for anything else, and certainly not for joint activities with his wife.
After their children moved out, Käterli decided to pursue a career. She had previously studied art and returned to the field. She went through a short introduction phase, took soon over as deputy in specific projects, and was appointed as curator in the municipal art museum after two years. This versatile and exciting activity filled her with life. It involved many meetings, travel, and public appearances. And she had friendly colleagues, who, of course, practically all knew about her husband’s affairs. Especially since, when he accompanied his wife to public events, he also tried to conquer women, who, however, rejected him one and all and sometimes even made him look ridiculous.
Käterli lay there, feeling this immense turmoil within, evidently spurred on by the music, erupting. Somehow, a floodgate had opened – was it Mahler or Beethoven or Liszt, whose works had so electrified and swept her away? She whispered almost silently, “It was all three of them who pulled me out of this lethargy!” She threw back the covers on her side and got out of bed. She tiptoed out into the hallway and over to the kitchen. She acted purposefully and without hesitation, pulling the large Japanese cutting knife from the sideboard’s large drawer. For a brief moment, she held the dangerous cutting tool in her right hand and hissed, “Enough is enough!” Through the large kitchen window, the starry sky looked down; dawn would begin soon, and the stars would forever keep what they had seen.
Käterli tiptoed toward the bedroom. In the middle of the dark corridor, she met her husband, who was hurrying toward the bathroom with half-closed eyes. Quickly, she hid the sharp knife behind her back and turned away, then nimbly ran to the bed. She was about to put the sharp Japanese knife under her pillow when a horrendous scream pierced the silence of the night, followed by terrible sobs.
Intuitively, she kept the sharp knife in her hand and strode to the doorstep, where she paused in horror. Her husband lay on the ground, a knife in his chest. Bent over the body, directly in front of her, was the perpetrator. Just when the killer slowly rose, she grabbed her knife with both hands and stabbed it with all her strength without hesitation, without thinking, into his neck. He also let a bloodcurdling scream, turned briefly halfway towards her and slowly moved his hand up to the heavily bleeding wound; the blood shot up in a fountain. She then realised that the killer that she had stabbed, was the city architect. Käterli collapsed exhausted onto the bed as the city architect fell backwards into the bedroom.
With a steady hand, Käterli picked up her cell phone from the night table and dialled the police number. She calmly gave the necessary information in a few words. Then she stepped over the two bodies, went downstairs and opened the front door wide. Afterwards, she returned to the bedroom – again climbing over the two bodies on the ground - and sat bolt upright on the edge of the bed waiting. Certain stages of her life passed through her mind. And, again and again, the countless disappointed, demoralising and hurtful moments resurfaced, in which she had wanted to run away from despair, anger, and disgust, when she became aware again of her husband’s constant infidelities. She had suffered from damaged self-esteem for many years because she did nothing to change her situation. Now it was all over. She was redeemed. The city architect had – unintentionally and unplanned – lifted her burden. Well, the latter action – killing the murderer of her husband - was simply self-defence. That was crystal clear. Her life took a fantastic turn, and she would first embark on a multi-month cruise around the world. Later, she would begin a new life entirely to her liking somewhere in a lovely seaside town.
When the police arrived, they found her sitting on the edge of the marital bed, smiling gently. After the team had inspected the crime scene and briefly discussed the matter, and had quickly begun the investigation into the incident, the chief inspector squeezed past the two bodies and sat down on the bed next to Käterli. He asked her to describe the terrible deed as accurately as possible. Käterli nodded and recounted what had happened in brief sentences. She spoke clearly, almost reverently, her words radiated an unusual naturalness, and she seemed remarkably composed, which gave a somewhat unusual impression considering the two bodies lying in front of them, each killed with a knife.
After Käterli had finished her statement, the chief inspector looked closely into her face for a longer moment, as if he wanted to investigate something invisible. Then he looked frowning at the two corpses, with his head tilted and his eyes narrowed to slits. But he immediately turned back to the woman sitting on the edge of the bed in front of him and began to examine her thoroughly from head to toe and back with a thoughtful expression, and as if he wanted to see through her.
“Please stay here for a moment, I’ll have a brief discussion with my team and come back to you shortly!” After these words, he stood up and squeezed past the corpses into the corridor again.
The investigation into the crime was progressing quickly, and every member of the team knew exactly what to do. Cameras flashed, photographs were taken, and evidence was secured. Two team members just came out of Käterli’s husband’s office with meaningful expressions and beckoned the inspector over. They put their heads together and seemed to be summarising what had happened. The inspector nodded several times.
Käterli sat there on the edge of her marital bed, as if relieved, gazing at the scene right before her. And yet, everything seemed distant to her, not particularly touching. Tomorrow, she would plunge into a new life and study travel brochures so she could leave as soon as possible. After everything she had to endure for so many years, one could not expect her to still sigh with great sadness after her husband. Others could take care of the organisational aspects. There was plenty of money, after all. Now it was finally her turn to shape her life entirely as she wished. When her gaze finally fell on the dead man she had stabbed lying at her feet, she shrugged. Well, that was clearly self-defence; there was nothing they could do to her. She was absolutely convinced.
Now the chief inspector came back into the room, stepping over the corpses lying on the floor, and placed himself next to Käterli. He frowned, looked out into the corridor where the forensic investigation and the crime scene investigation were still in full swing, and said in a calm voice, “It’s all very clear where your husband’s murderer came in, namely, through the half-open terrace window in your husband’s office, which could then easily be opened fully from outside while standing on the terrace. We also have a plausible reason for the crime, as there are revealing messages on the mobile phones of both men, as well as a threatening letter found in your husband’s safe. The perpetrator had warned your husband a month ago that he should end the relationship with his wife immediately, otherwise something catastrophic would happen. So, with this evidence, everything will go quite smoothly.
The chief inspector paused briefly and looked at the crime scene, then slowly turned to Käterli and asked in a gentle but insisting voice, “Well, the court will decide how your own act should be classified and punished, because it does not really seem to be proper self-defence, since your husband’s murderer did not have any other weapon and had not yet attacked you – on the contrary, he had clearly turned his back on you - when you stabbed him. And there is one puzzling thing. You were standing on the threshold of the bedroom when you stabbed the murderer of your husband. Why did you have a large Japanese kitchen knife ready in the bedroom? There are three possibilities: First, that you always sleep with a sharp Japanese kitchen knife under your pillow. Second, that you knew a murderer was coming. Or third, that you actually planned to kill your husband yourself, and the intruder intervened. I now await your clear answer!”