Ursula Archer - Five

The sound of paper rustling. The clatter of a keyboard. ‘It’s a prepaid card.’

Shit . ‘So I presume you can’t tell me who it belongs to?’

‘No, I’m afraid not. People don’t have to give any ID when—’

‘I understand,’ she interrupted. ‘Okay, then in that case I need the mobile’s identifier. A message was sent from the number at 13.17 to the following recipient.’ Beatrice recited her own number. ‘I’d also like to know which network the device was connected to at the time. How long will it take you to get that information?’

She must have sounded extremely bossy, as when the man at the other end answered, his voice sounded both intimidated and defiant at the same time. ‘I’m not sure. It’s the weekend, so I’ll need to see if there’s someone here who can—’

‘If no one’s there, then you’ll have to get someone there!’ She tried to rein herself in and adopt a more friendly tone, but her insides were vibrating like a plucked guitar string. ‘It’s important. It would be an immense help if you could get the information to me as soon as possible.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

Beatrice hung up and propped her face in her hands. Slow? If we are, then it’s certainly not because of me.

She pulled the pathologist’s report towards her and immersed herself in the details relating to the severed hand.

The sawdust which had been found in the wound came from bay and spruce trees – the most common in the local area, so not very helpful. Earth had been found under the fingernails, and there were also traces of soapy water on the skin – presumably the killer had washed the hand before shrink-wrapping it—

‘Beatrice?’

She jumped. She hadn’t heard Stefan come in.

‘Yes?’

‘I spoke to the agency earlier – they’ll all be there if we go now.’ He smiled, shy and excited, as if he had just asked to open a Christmas present two days early and was now waiting expectantly for her permission.

She couldn’t help but smile back. ‘Right. Thanks for taking care of that. I’ll just get my things together. Can you grab the Dictaphone?’

The stale biscuits laid out in a bowl on the circular conference table seemed appropriate for the sombre occasion. Two men and three women were sitting around the table. When Beatrice and Stefan walked in, the taller of the men stood up and stretched out his hand. ‘Max Winstatt. I’m the owner of the agency, and I want to offer whatever assistance I can to help you find out how Nora died.’ His accent indicated that he wasn’t from Salzburg; perhaps the Ruhr valley, thought Beatrice.

‘I’m Kommissarin Beatrice Kaspary, and this is my colleague Stefan Gerlach.’ She put her bag down on a vacant chair. ‘Is there a room where we can talk without any interruptions? I’d like to speak with each of you alone.’

Winstatt nodded emphatically and led Beatrice into a neighbouring room, which was dominated by a large glass desk. ‘You can use my office.’ He paused at the door. ‘Rosa, could you bring us some coffee, please?’ he called out. ‘You’ll have a cup, won’t you, Frau Kaspary? With milk and sugar? We’re all so devastated by Nora’s death, it’s hard to believe she was…’

Beatrice waved Stefan over to put the Dictaphone on the desk. She took her notepad and pen out from her bag.

‘We can start with you if that’s okay, Herr Winstatt. Would you please close the door?’

He followed her command at once, then sat down in his chair and clasped his hands on the desk.

‘Could you describe for me the evening of Nora’s disappearance – from your perspective? Everything you can remember about the course of events, and of course everything that relates to Nora herself.’

He paused a moment before starting to speak. Good. Perhaps that meant there was more to his rhetoric than just smooth clichés.

‘We reserved a table at the restaurant for 7 p.m., and Nora was one of the first to arrive. She was in a cheerful mood and seemed completely carefree, if you know what I mean.’

Beatrice nodded. ‘What was she wearing?’

He only had to think for a moment. ‘A red jacket. Trousers. I can’t remember what was under the jacket, something nondescript. But Rosa took some photos that evening. Erich too, on his mobile, if I’m not mistaken.’

Beatrice and Stefan exchanged surprised looks. ‘Excellent. Do you have the photos here?’

‘I’m sure Erich has his phone on him, and Rosa might have her camera too. It’s one of those compact ones, so they’re really easy to carry around with—’

‘Okay,’ Beatrice interrupted. ‘Let’s come back to the photos in a moment. So, Nora was there early and in a good mood. What happened next?’

‘We all had an aperitif, and then I made a short speech. We had just managed to secure a budget which is amazing for a company the size of ours, you see – that’s why we were celebrating. Then we ordered the food.’

‘Was Nora sitting next to you?’

‘No, she was next to Irene. Irene Grabner, she’s a copywriter too. But I know what she ordered – fish soup to start, then sweetbreads in Madeira sauce. I had the same, that’s why I remember…’

What an inappropriate moment to become aware of the emptiness of her own stomach. Beatrice thought with dull longing of the biscuits on the conference-room table.

‘We all had wine too, in case that’s important,’ Winstatt continued.

There was a knock at the door, and one of the female employees came in balancing a tray with three coffee cups.

‘Are you Rosa?’ asked Beatrice.

‘Yes,’ said the woman, looking at her boss hesitantly. ‘Rosa Drabcek.’

‘Do you have your camera with you? The one with the pictures from the work dinner?’

‘I… I think so. I’ll go and see.’

‘Then we’ll speak to you next.’ Beatrice took one of the cups with a grateful smile, then sipped the coffee. Black and strong. Her stomach contracted in protest, but she drank another sip regardless.

‘So, you had wine.’ She picked the topic of conversation back up. ‘Did Nora drink a lot?’

Winstatt hesitated. ‘No, I mean… one glass, or maybe two. Plus the Prosecco we had at the beginning of the evening. She certainly wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you mean. Slightly tipsy at most.’ He stared down at the table, embarrassed. ‘Do you think she would have had a better chance against her murderer if she had been completely sober?’

‘That’s hard to say. Please continue.’

She could see from his face that he was trying to compose himself. ‘We were halfway through the main course when her mobile rang. She took it out from her handbag and made some jokey comment about her husband. Then she said something like, “Oh, it’s not him,” and answered it. We carried on talking, of course, so I don’t know what she was speaking to the caller about, but after a few seconds she got up and went off towards the toilets with her phone.’

‘As if she didn’t want anyone at the table to hear her conversation?’ Beatrice interrupted.

‘Yes. Or perhaps it was just too loud and she wanted to find somewhere quieter to talk. That was the impression I had, at least. But if I’m honest I wasn’t really paying that much attention to Nora at the time.’

The telephone conversation. She glanced questioningly at Stefan. He understood at once and, in a barely perceptible movement, shook his head. That meant the list of Nora’s phone conversations which they had requested from the provider hadn’t arrived yet.

‘She wasn’t on the phone for that long,’ continued Winstatt. ‘Three, maybe four minutes. Then she came back to the table.’

‘Did she carry on eating?’