Ursula Archer - Five

Beatrice rummaged around in her desk drawer for a magnifying glass and looked at Liebscher’s hands. Was it possible to ascertain whether they were the same ones that had been found in the caches, tinged with blue?

She scanned the picture at the highest resolution and zoomed in on the section showing his hands, comparing what she saw with the photos of the shrink-wrapped dismembered ones. It was certainly possible that they were the same, but she couldn’t be sure. The hands in the picture were as unremarkable as the man they belonged to. She suppressed a sigh and tried to get through to Drasche again. This time, he picked up.

‘You’ll have your written report soon,’ he boomed, without a word of greeting. ‘It took longer because I had to use every damn method that’s ever been invented, but we still only have Papenberg’s fingerprints.’

‘On a note?’

‘Yep. Do you want to know about the ears? It might interest you.’ That was probably the closest Drasche would get to a friendly tone in this lifetime.

‘Are they from the same victim?’

‘They’re a matching pair, if that’s what you mean. We’ll need to wait on the genetic analysis to find out whether they were cut off from the same guy as the hands though.’ He inserted one of his typical pauses, indicating that he wanted to be asked for further details.

‘Okay.’ She decided to humour him. ‘Is there anything else of interest?’

‘Yes.’ Drasche cleared his throat and coughed. ‘They weren’t cut off with a saw, but a tool with two opposing blades.’ He stopped, giving the information time to seep deeply enough into Beatrice’s imagination to create a vague image. ‘My guess would be a pair of garden shears,’ he added.

All of a sudden, the image was crystal clear. Beatrice swallowed. ‘I see.’

‘That’s only half of the story. The ears weren’t vacuum-packed together, but individually. The pathologist will have to confirm it, of course, but I’m pretty sure they weren’t cut off at the same time. The left one looks much more decomposed than the right.’

Beatrice took a sharp intake of breath through her teeth.

‘You’ve guessed it, right? I think the right ear was cut off while the victim was still alive. One or two days before the left one, in any case.’

‘How wonderful. Okay, please send everything over. The photos, particularly the ones of the letters, and the others too.’

‘Will do.’ He hung up.

A pair of garden shears. Beatrice pictured the monstrosity with steel blades which Achim had always used to trim the boxwood hedge.

‘Are you not feeling well?’ The concern in Florin’s voice made her smile involuntarily.

‘I’m fine. It seems our Owner started to mutilate his victim while he was still alive. One of the ears was probably cut off before the man died.’

‘Shit,’ whispered Florin hoarsely.

‘Yep. Drasche is sending everything over now. Including the clues about the next stage.’ Realising that she had started to arrange the pens on her desk so they were all parallel and aligned, she gave them an impatient shove before standing up and switching on the espresso machine. Caffeine was a better option than indulging in OCD-like behaviour. ‘I wish we had Reichenau in the team instead of that narcissistic fool.’ Beatrice quickly tipped the rest of the coffee beans from the packet into the grinder, causing about a quarter of it to spill out and tumble down onto the floor. ‘Wow, I’m really on form today.’

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself,’ said Florin. ‘And go easier on Kossar too. We barely know him – perhaps he really knows his stuff.’

‘Maybe.’ She cleared up the scattered beans and threw them in the bin. ‘I’ll do my best to be objective, okay? But don’t forget he was holding us up from doing our job earlier.’

The coffee eventually helped to reunite her with her concentration. She drank the cup quickly in the knowledge that she would no longer be able to enjoy it once Drasche’s photos arrived.

She went through the existing files one more time. Hands. And now ears. Was that purely arbitrary, or was there some symbolism behind it? Had the victim touched something forbidden? Heard something he wasn’t supposed to hear? She tried to stop her mind going off at a tangent. Getting to the bottom of questions like those was Kossar’s job, not hers.

A few minutes later, Drasche’s photos arrived in her inbox. The first data files showed the ears: blood-soaked lobes, one more advanced in the decomposition process than the other. Then the letters.

The first was word-processed, as the previous ones had been, and again started with the same words.

Congratulations – you’ve found it!

We’re still playing the same game; you should be getting familiar with it by now. What do you think of this container? I’d like to know if you draw the correct conclusions from its contents. You may well manage to, but it’s unlikely to help you any further.

How are things going with your boss? And the media? Are people getting impatient yet that you haven’t come up with anything?

Come on, police! Try harder.

The noises from the street outside forced their way in through the closed window, while someone wearing high-heeled shoes could be heard walking along the corridor. Clackclackclack . Beatrice waited to see whether Florin would say anything, and when he didn’t she cleared her throat. ‘He’s trying to provoke us.’

‘Well, as far as I’m concerned he’s doing a very good job of it.’ He put his cup down a little too firmly; some of it lapped over the edge and formed a brown lake next to the telephone. ‘Come on, police,’ he whispered.

Just in time, Beatrice managed to save a pile of interrogation minutes from the spilled coffee. ‘He seems to have some personal battle with us. We should go back through all the old files and look for someone who might feel they’ve been mistreated by the police, someone who blames us for their life being ruined.’

Florin grimaced. ‘Well, there’ll be no shortage of candidates there.’

‘But, you know, sometimes it goes beyond the normal level.’

Suddenly Bechner rushed in without knocking, ignoring Beatrice and addressing Florin. ‘Do you have a minute to speak about the statements from the Papenberg relatives?’

‘No. Later.’

He waited until Bechner had pulled the door shut behind him, clearly affronted. ‘Do you think he’s doing this because of us? Torturing and killing people just to get material for his puzzles, to make life difficult for us?’

‘No, I don’t think that’s his motive. But humiliating us and boosting his own ego is clearly important to him. Why else would he write letters like this to us?’

Beatrice clicked on the print icon. With a whirring sound, two copies of the latest cache note peeled out of the printer. Then she opened the next data file from the attachment in Drasche’s email.

Once again, the puzzle was composed in Nora Papenberg’s handwriting. Erratic at first, almost illegible, but halfway through it looked as though the writer had got a hold of herself.

Even after the first read-through, Beatrice could tell it was going to be exceptionally difficult this time.

Stage Four

You’re looking for a key figure. His quota is over 2,000. He never concedes defeat – or so he claims – he has a loud voice and he refuses to tolerate any contradiction. His eyes may be green or blue, but you’ll have to find that out for yourself. He makes a living by selling things which, as he himself says, no one needs. He’s good at it, too. He has two sons, one of whom is called Felix. Find the man’s place of birth and translate it into numbers, just like you did last time. Multiply the value of the first and last letters together, then times the result by 22. Add 193 and add the resulting sum to the northern coordinates from Stage Three. Multiply the tenfold value of the penultimate letter with its sevenfold value and subtract the ninefold value of the same letter from the result. Subtract the resulting sum from the eastern coordinates of Stage Three. We’ll see each other there.