Ursula Archer - Five

‘Yes. And the longer I think about it, the more sure I am.’

‘That’s very interesting.’ He propped his chin in his hand, his forehead furrowed, gaze averted to the side.

Good God, what a show he puts on , thought Beatrice. ‘And what do you conclude from that?’ she asked, in a tone that left no doubt of her low expectations. But Kossar wouldn’t be distracted.

‘There was a case in the USA some years ago; a twenty-nine-year-old man who killed people who had a particular breed of dog. They didn’t know each other, but they all had this one thing in common. Maybe we’ll find something like that with Herbert Liebscher and Nora Papenberg too.’

It was an idea they couldn’t immediately dismiss, in any case. ‘The best lead so far,’ Beatrice summed up, ‘is this desire for attention that the Owner clearly has. What would happen if we took that away from him?’

For a moment, Kossar’s lopsided smile made him look almost endearing. ‘Presumably he would try to force it.’

‘Then I think it’s time to change the rules of play on our side,’ she said. ‘If what you’re saying about him is true, and he really does want to be a fly on the wall here, then I’m sure he’s following the news and buying the papers to find out as much as he can about how the investigations are coming along. If nothing is being mentioned all of a sudden – then I’m sure he wouldn’t like it in the slightest.’

‘That’s absolutely right.’ The smile on Kossar’s face deepened. ‘It’s a shame that you never finished your studies.’

‘Indeed.’ Beatrice made no attempt to hide the irritation in her voice. ‘Anyway, let’s make use of these insights.’

Within two hours, following Hoffmann’s intervention, the Department of Public Prosecutions had imposed a gagging order on the press, preventing them from publishing details about the case.

The bus rumbled along the uneven road. Bernd Sigart’s forehead banged lightly on the pane of glass he was leaning against, which fogged up every time he exhaled. Observing his breathing calmed him down. Every intake and exhalation of breath was one less to contend with. The number was endless.

He closed his eyes. Perhaps, this time, he would just stay seated when his stop came. Keep riding the same route on the bus over and over again, until someone threw him off.

No, he warned himself. Tiredness cannot be permitted as an excuse to let yourself fall, no more than despair and weariness of life could. The appointment would take place, just like every week. And just like every week, it wouldn’t help.

As he got off the bus, a woman with a limping Alsatian crossed his path, but it was only when he rang the bell to the practice that he realised he hadn’t immediately made a flash diagnosis out of habit.

Another goodbye. He was no longer a father or a husband – and now he was gradually ceasing to be a vet.

Dr Anja Maly’s therapy practice was decorated in cream tones which were intended to encourage relaxation, the only real fleck of colour coming from a dense blue meditation picture hanging over the desk. Everything here was designed to promote calm, not least Maly herself. Moving majestically like a tall ship, she came slowly over from the window to greet him, squeezing his hand and gesturing for him to take a seat on the armchair.

Sigart sat down.

‘Would you like a glass of water?’ She asked him that every time, even though he had never once said yes. This time, too, he shook his head. ‘How have you been this week?’

He looked her in the eyes, without smiling. ‘I didn’t kill myself.’ It was the same answer he always gave.

‘I’m glad to see that.’ The doctor flicked through her files. ‘Tell me what’s happened over the last few days. We agreed that you should go for a walk for half an hour each day. How did that go?’

He hesitated. ‘I didn’t manage to go every day. But I went three times.’

She smiled as if he had really made her happy. ‘That’s a wonderful improvement. How did you feel afterwards?’

He looked to the side, thinking for a moment. ‘I don’t know. Strange. Once I felt like someone was following me, but it was probably just the thing that’s always following me. My conscience.’

Maly made a note in her file. ‘Did you turn around and see if there was really anyone there?’

‘No. Well, not properly, I mean. It was more of a blur, like someone had just ducked into a doorway or disappeared behind a delivery van. Do you know what I mean?’ The long sentence had exhausted him. A glance at the clock told him that he had only been here for five minutes, and now he wished he really had stayed on the bus.

‘Yes, I can imagine.’ Maly’s pen scurried across the page. ‘Let’s come back to the subject of your conscience again.’

He waved his hand dismissively. ‘What’s the point? I know I didn’t set the forest on fire. But the fact is and remains that I didn’t see the signs. Miriam asked me not to drive off and she was really upset with me that I was doing it regardless. She was…’ He put a hand over his eyes.

Then go to hell, Bernd, if you can’t even make time for us on holiday .

And that’s exactly what he had done. He had taken the most direct and harrowing route to hell imaginable.

When he looked up, Anja Maly’s gaze was resting on him, patient and empathetic. He pulled himself together. ‘I wasn’t there, that’s what it comes down to. There’s no way that therapy can erase that knowledge from my mind. If I hadn’t driven to the stud farm, if I’d sent a colleague instead, my family would still be alive. There’s not a shadow of a doubt about that. I could have made sure that everyone got out of the house.’ He took a deep breath, but it was as though none of it was making its way into his lungs. ‘If you knew how often I dream about it. I smell the smoke and see the flames in the forest, but I don’t panic, I just open the door, then I get Miriam and wake the children quickly – Lukas and Hanna run out, and I carry Oskar. We even have enough time to take our most important possessions with us. By the time we’re sat in the car the fire is getting closer, but the route down to the valley is clear, and it only takes us ten minutes to get down there. Miriam has phoned the emergency services on her mobile, and they pass us on the road, two big fire engines, their sirens turned on. I park by the church and know that everything’s fine. I turn around and see the children on the back seat, and I’m almost exploding with happiness, because I did things right this time, I turned back the clock. Miriam puts her hand on my shoulder, and Lukas says: “Do you think there’ll be another fire engine, Papa?” And then I wake up.’

He could feel the tears running down his face, but didn’t wipe them away. He didn’t have the strength to lift his hand. ‘Every time I think – this time it will kill me, that moment when I realise they’re all gone, for ever. Do you know what I do then?’

Anja Maly shook her head, looking moved. ‘Tell me.’

‘I make it worse. In my head, I go back to the moment when I saw what the fire did to my children. Charred, distorted… things. So tiny. Did you know that the heat can make limbs explode?’

His words were clearly getting to her. She had children herself, her assistant had told him that, and he could see in her eyes that she was trying to stop the picture he was so vividly describing from seeping into her mind.

‘Every single time I think the pain is going to kill me, because it really feels like that. Physical cramps, choking fits. But it never happens.’ He sank his gaze down to the parquet floor. ‘Other people die so easily. They have heart attacks, or cancer. My body just keeps living… unless I destroy it with my own hands.’