Ursula Archer - Five

Every single path they pursued seemed to lead to a dead end. The investigation of Sigart’s patient files hadn’t unearthed anything either: it seemed neither Nora Papenberg nor Christoph Beil had taken their pets to him for treatment. Another idea smothered in the cradle. But there was no time to brood over it: one of Liebscher’s colleagues had emailed through some photos taken at a bowling night, including a few close-ups of Liebscher. He was laughing, exposing crooked teeth. Beatrice’s attention was drawn to his ears, her hand instinctively lifting to touch her own left ear as she thought about the cache.

‘Do you want to come and get a coffee with me?’ Kossar had popped up out of nowhere. His question was clearly directed solely at Beatrice.

‘Sorry. I’m busy.’ The way he looked at her made her feel uneasy. Whenever colleagues tried to approach her about anything other than work, she always felt the acute impulse to run away. She turned her concentration back to Liebscher’s photos. Pale blue eyes. They would fit in a very small container. A micro-cache.

Kossar seemed to have noticed her irritation. ‘I don’t mean to impose.’ His tone was significantly more businesslike than before. ‘But a chat over coffee might spark off some more ideas about the case. I’m happy to come back later if you—’

Her mobile beeped, announcing the arrival of a message.

With one quick lunge, she grabbed it from her bag and pressed ‘Read’.

Just one word. She stared at it, the context slowly dawning on her. But maybe she was wrong. Hopefully.

‘Bad news?’

She had to get rid of Kossar. Showing him the message right now would just bring on another of his gusts of hot air. She would tell him about it later. Once she had worked out her own thoughts on it.

‘It’s a family matter. With all due respect, I really must ask you to let me get on with my work.’

He stared at her for a moment. ‘Family, I understand. Yes, Hoffmann mentioned that you had a messy divorce behind you. If you’d like—’

‘Sorry if I didn’t express myself clearly enough, but I really don’t have much time and I have to work.’

‘How about the two of us go get some coffee?’ Florin stood up, walked over to Kossar and clapped him affably on the shoulder. ‘I could use a quick break. Let’s go.’ Beatrice, having known him for so long, was the only one to hear the edge of sharpness to his voice.

Kossar’s laugh sounded forced, but Beatrice barely noticed. The word on the screen of her phone was taking up all her attention:

Archived.

With one click, she found the caching dictionary under her favourites on the browser, opened it and confirmed that her suspicion was correct. An archived cache was one that had been taken out of operation. It was gone and wouldn’t be replaced.

First disabled . Then archived .

Presumably the Owner didn’t mean the container he had hidden for the police. He was being abstract. It was clear he was referring to something they were looking for, and right now, first and foremost, they were searching for Christoph Beil.

Archived. In the unusual peace and quiet of her empty office, Beatrice wondered whether the Owner was trying to tell them, in his own particular way, that Beil was no longer alive.

That evening, she drove to Mooserhof and found the children being kept very busy. Jakob – dressed in jeans and his pyjama top – was sweeping the floor, singing and distributing little packets of sugar among the tables, while Mina was in the process of serving a bottle of water and two glasses on a tray. Her gaze was fixed with the utmost concentration on the load in her hands, as if hoping that through hypnosis she could prevent them from falling.

Beatrice’s mother was standing behind the bar, pulling a pint of beer. ‘I didn’t expect to see you!’ She waited until the foam top was at the right thickness, then put the beer krug down and hugged Beatrice. ‘You look tired. Are you hungry? Hang on, I’ll tell André to bring you a portion of stuffed cabbage leaves – they’re delicious!’

Beatrice was about to protest, but didn’t have the energy. Besides, she really was hungry. Her stomach was practically screaming out for nourishment. ‘Okay. I really just came to see the children quickly though.’

‘But you’re not taking them with you today, are you?’

‘No. It’ll probably be another few days. This new case is… very unusual.’

Her mother looked indifferent to the explanation. ‘That’s fine. I love having them here, you know that.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Sit down at table twelve, I’ll bring you a drink in a moment.’

Jakob shot over to her, giggling, placed an open sugar sachet on her knee and hugged her. ‘Are you staying here tonight?’

‘No, sweetie. I really wanted to see you, but I have to get up early tomorrow, and it’s going to be another long day.’

He nodded, his eyebrows knitted together, the very personification of understanding. ‘I earned some pocket money. Three euros and forty-five cents. For clearing plates and putting out the sugar. Oma said I’m a really good helper.’

‘You certainly are.’ She squeezed him against her, seeing Mina come towards them carrying water and a glass of apple juice.

‘You’re not picking us up yet, are you?’ She looked really worried.

‘No. Although I’d really love to. I miss you guys.’

‘Yeah. We miss you too, but you can hold out a bit longer, right?’

‘A bit.’

‘Good,’ replied Mina contentedly, going back to the bar. Jakob fidgeted around on Beatrice’s knees.

‘Uncle Richard told us that you’re going to have a… a burn-ow… soon. What’s that?’

It took her a moment to understand what Jakob meant. ‘No, sweetie, I’m not going to have a burn-out. Where is Uncle Richard anyway?’

‘He’s over there playing cards.’

Beatrice looked over her left shoulder. Yes, there he was, her darling brother. Shuffling cards and laughing about something the brawny man next to him was saying.

‘You two should go to bed – it’s already past eight,’ whispered Beatrice in Jakob’s ear. ‘I’ll tuck you in, okay?’

‘Okay!’

The bedroom up in the loft was still as cosy as it had been when she used to sleep there herself. She put Jakob and Mina to bed, listening to their stories of the day and trying to push everything about the case to the deepest recesses of her mind. No, she wasn’t going to burn out. Three days’ holiday once the Owner was caught would be enough to recharge her batteries; it always was.

When she went back downstairs to the restaurant, there were two things waiting for her: cold stuffed cabbage, and a critical brother. ‘Surely they can’t be paying you so much that you just let everything else go to hell?’ His blond hair clung to his sweaty forehead – and he had put on weight since the last time she saw him.

‘It’s not a question of money, Richard.’ She started to eat. Even though it was no longer hot, it tasted good.

‘No, of course not. You’re saving the world, right?’ He winked as he said it, but she still felt like plunging the prongs of her fork into the back of his hand. Just as she’d always wanted to back when they were kids, when he used to pinch food from her plate.

‘Achim was here this lunchtime – we had a long chat.’

The fork nearly dropped out of her hand. ‘What?’

‘Yep. He’s in a really bad way, Bea. He comes here a lot, whenever he’s sure he won’t run into you. I think he’s hoping that one of us can explain to him why you wanted a divorce.’ Richard looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Maybe you’ll at least explain it to us one day? You had it good, Bea. He was crazy about you, and if you ask me, he still is.’