Ursula Archer - Five

‘White calla and violet lilies,’ she said softly, ‘were the flowers on the wreath I bought twelve years ago for my friend’s funeral, the one who was murdered. The Owner keeps making references to Evelyn.’ She pushed sweaty strands of hair off her forehead. ‘Even the colour of the ribbon is the same.’

‘I wonder why he picked you, out of all of us.’ Florin’s gaze was full of sympathy, and Beatrice couldn’t handle that right now.

‘No idea.’ She gestured towards Kossar, who was standing at the window with a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘Why don’t you ask the expert? And while you’re at it, ask him how the Owner knows the inscription on her gravestone.’

Spirit of Man ,

How like water you are .

Fate of Man ,

How like the wind

The quote had been chosen by Evelyn’s mother, a pretty, friendly woman who had collapsed during the funeral and had to be taken away in an ambulance. Beatrice had only seen her twice after that, and she had looked smaller and greyer each time. Not just her hair but her skin and eyes, too, seemed to lose their colour. She had been as friendly as ever, but the friendliness had become absent-minded. Even though Beatrice had fully intended to, she had never managed to tell Evelyn’s mother about what had happened back then. About how easily Beatrice could have prevented it.

No one from her new life knew about it. Or so she had thought.

‘Right then,’ said Kossar, interrupting her thoughts, ‘what seems evident is that the Owner wants to establish a strong link with Frau Kaspary. She’s the only one receiving his text messages, and now flowers, and he put a note under her windscreen wiper too – a little like lovers might do, don’t you think?’

Beatrice looked away. If Kossar carried on like this she would have to run off to the toilet again.

‘Was the man who killed your friend ever caught?’

She shook her head, convinced she knew what Kossar really wanted to ask.

‘There’s no way it’s the same killer! The behavioural patterns are completely different. For a start, the Owner doesn’t commit any sexual offences.’ She gestured towards the photos of the severed hands and ears that lay in front of Florin. ‘The dismemberments aren’t in any way com parable, and nor are the weapons, as far as we know. Besides, the Owner has predominantly killed men, so there aren’t any parallels there either.’ She raised her chin, staring defiantly at Kossar. Hold your head high, even if your neck’s dirty had been one of Evelyn’s favourite sayings. When Beatrice continued to speak, her voice was quieter than before, but also fiercer. ‘I would have thought you knew that. No serial killers change their pattern just like that.’

‘No, of course not,’ responded Kossar gently. ‘And I can’t remember having suggested that. I only asked whether your friend’s murderer was ever caught because I think it would have helped you considerably in dealing with the trauma.’

His response felt like a blow to the stomach. He was right; she had simply pushed her own interpretation onto him. She would have to apologise for questioning his competence. But right now she was too angry to be fair. ‘More important than my so-called “trauma”,’ she snapped, ‘are these coordinates. Let’s not fool ourselves – we know what we’re going to find there.’ Sigart’s blood-covered mobile came into her mind. The prospect that his painful life had now come to an end wasn’t comforting, not even in the slightest.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ Florin pointed his pen at the computer monitor in front of him. ‘The quote the Owner sent you this time is by René Descartes, and he was a mathematician.’

‘Like Liebscher!’

‘Precisely. So it’s possible that the Owner hasn’t sent us the location of Sigart’s body, but the coordinates to Stage Four, as a gift of sorts. Leading us to another one of Liebscher’s body parts. It’s as if he knew we were planning to stop playing his game.’

The location was directly at the intersection of two busy roads near Bischofshofen, where a bridge stretched over the Salzach. Water and scenic spots – the Owner clearly had a weakness for them.

They made their approach with a backup team: three dog handlers, and four squad cars to immediately block off the street if they found something. Drasche and Ebner had been called away to a break-in at a jewellery store, but two colleagues had been sent in their place.

The coordinates directed Beatrice and Florin right towards the bridge, the arches of which were accessible on foot – stone steps beneath the road led from one arch to the next. The three officers with their dogs were already down there, while four others were searching the surrounding area within a radius of thirty metres, so far without any success.

Down below, the river rushed northwards towards the city. Beatrice stood at the edge of the bridge, leaning over the stone wall and trying to ignore the pungent stink of urine rising up towards her. If the Owner hadn’t been careful, the river might already be carrying what they were looking for off towards the border. It was damp within the arches of the bridge; a plastic box could easily be dislodged by a strong gust of wind and fall into the water.

And it seemed that Beatrice’s fears were to be confirmed, for three hours later they still hadn’t found anything. The dogs had dug up a perished squirrel, but that was all. No body, no cache. At around two in the afternoon, they gave up the search.

‘He’s making fools of us,’ said Beatrice bitterly. ‘He tosses us a few coordinates and we run off and do exactly what he wants.’ She sat down in the grass near the roadside and watched the dog handlers working their way through the arches of the bridge one more time.

What if it was a mini-cache? An eye, vacuum-packed in an old photo film cartridge, hidden away in one of the numerous niches in the wall. Would the dogs be able to sniff it out?

Probably. But so far the Owner had hidden his containers in such a way that, with a little patience, they could always be found.

‘I wish I knew why we’re here.’ A cool wind had started up, prompting Florin to pull his jacket closed across his chest.

‘Me too. Why is he luring us out here? Maybe it’s to get us out of the way. If all the attention is focused on Point A, it leaves him in peace to do whatever he wants at Point B.’

You know everything, and yet you find nothing .

What did the Owner mean exactly? That they knew everything, knew the coordinates, and still weren’t finding anything? Or were his words meant to be read figuratively?

For the duration of the journey back to the office, Beatrice went over the messages she had received from him again and again in her mind. A text message and a card today alone – he was astonishingly eager to communicate. Which gave her reason to fear they were moving towards the culmination of his bloody production.

Achim was waiting in the car park next to the entrance of the office building. Judging by his posture, he had already been standing there a long time. For a few moments, Beatrice felt yet again as though her lungs were refusing to take in any oxygen.

It’s fine , she reassured herself. If he were to get loud and offensive then she wouldn’t hesitate to call for help this time. After all, there were enough law enforcers on hand.

Florin had noticed Achim too, and groaned with irritation. ‘That man’s got perfect timing. I can get rid of him for you if you like.’

‘No, it’s fine. I’ll deal with it.’ She took her time getting out of the car and waited until the others had disappeared into the building. Achim looked at her. A few strands of blond hair stood up from his head, windswept.