Ursula Archer - Five

‘Four dead bodies, possibly five, and in just two weeks! There must be suspects, witnesses, something!’

With that last word, his voice had taken on a pleading tone. He seemed to have heard it himself, as he frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

‘Kaspary! Maybe you could make a contribution for a change. What do we know so far about the new victim?’

She squared her shoulders. ‘Male, between forty and forty-five years old, of stocky build. According to Dr Vogt the cause of death was probably the intake of a strongly corrosive fluid.’

‘I mean his identity! Is there anything to go on yet?’

‘He didn’t have any ID on him, and we don’t have any recent missing persons reports, but we do have a wedding ring and what’s likely to be the wife’s forename.’

‘You’ve been lucky then. So get on with it, okay? Do you have any idea what kind of pressure the Department of Public Prosecutions is putting me under? And several times a day at that!’

‘We’ve already started looking for witnesses who may have driven over the bridge at the time of the crime,’ Florin interjected. ‘It’s virtually impossible that the perpetrator would have been able to park there and get rid of the body without being spotted by someone. And we’re also applying for a search warrant for Konrad Papenberg’s house.’

‘Okay.’ Hoffmann wiped a hand over his sweaty brow. ‘What about the last puzzle? The key figure? Have you found someone who fits the description?’

Stefan raised his hand. ‘We’ve found three people where the most important points match up, but the clues are unfortunately very vague—’

‘And? Check the people out then! For heaven’s sake, don’t be such a girl, Gerlach!’ With an expression of exaggerated suffering, Hoffmann leant back in his chair. ‘As soon as you have something, come straight to me. The press have already got wind of the latest murder, so that means I’ll have to give a press conference tomorrow. And God help you if I have to stand there with empty hands.’

The online telephone register was a speedier source of information than the public registry, so Beatrice started with that, finding only three Graciellas in the entire district of Salzburg. She printed out the telephone numbers and tried to work out which of them was the most likely. One Graciella was listed in the phone book alongside her husband – a Carlos Assante.

The dead man from yesterday hadn’t looked Mediterranean or Latin enough to be called Carlos Assante, so Beatrice moved this number to the bottom of the list. The two other entries only had mobile numbers listed.

‘Hello?’

‘Good morning, Frau Perner. This is Beatrice Kaspary, Salzburg Landeskriminalamt.’

A shocked intake of breath. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I’d like to know where your husband is.’

‘What?’

‘Your husband. Do you know where he is?’

‘Yes. He’s in the bathroom, shaving. Do you want to speak to him?’

‘No, in that case everything is fine. Have a good day!’ Without waiting for the woman to respond, she hung up. Two more numbers, and if neither of them brought results then she would need the registry after all. It would probably be a good idea to look for Graciellas outside Salzburg too, and maybe even across the border in Bavaria.

‘Hello, who’s speaking?’ The woman’s voice was throaty and cheerful.

‘Beatrice Kaspary, Landeskriminalamt.’

‘Oh.’

‘Are you Graciella Estermann?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Could you tell me where your husband is?’

In the background, Beatrice could hear children’s voices, then a dull crackle as the woman covered the speaker of her mobile. A few seconds later, the tone was clear again and the clamour silenced.

‘What do you want from my husband?’ The question didn’t sound unfriendly, but cautious.

‘Nothing special. I just need to know where he is.’

‘I can’t tell you precisely. He’s been away for the past week, on business.’

Beatrice’s pulse quickened. ‘When did he last get in touch with you?’

Graciella Estermann took her time answering. ‘A few days ago, I think. No, Saturday. Could you please tell me what this is about?’

Beatrice brushed the question aside. ‘And you haven’t heard from him since then? Isn’t that unusual?’

‘No.’ This time the answer came promptly. ‘He’s often like that, only getting in touch when he needs to. I want to know what this is about!’

‘Of course. I’d like to come by with my colleague. In an hour’s time, would that be okay?’

‘You want to come here?’ For the first time, the woman sounded unsettled. ‘He’s in trouble again, isn’t he? I don’t know anything about it though. I mean, I hardly ever see him.’

There wasn’t yet any proof that Beatrice really was speaking to the victim’s wife, but she was becoming increasingly convinced. ‘This will probably sound like a strange question,’ she said, ‘but could you tell me when you and your husband got married?’

The woman’s silent confusion didn’t last as long as she expected. ‘It was… in June 2001. On the nineteenth of June.’

‘Thank you. We’ll be with you in an hour. Please wait for us.’ Beatrice hung up. She typed Estermann and Salzburg into the text field on Google. The first couple of results brought up a Walter and a Rudolf.

Rudolf Estermann sold plant-based slimming drops and figure-shaping moisturisers to chemists’ shops all over the country. He was a travelling sales representative. Bingo .

Alongside that, it seemed he also ran a small online shop. Five kilos in ten days!!! promised the garish red writing on the homepage. What a load of nonsense.

She pushed her chair back and stood up. Heading out of the office to look for Florin, she found him with Stefan, going through the data on Liebscher’s computer.

‘There doesn’t seem to be anything here,’ sighed Florin. ‘Stefan has already read back through the last three months’ worth of email correspondence, but hasn’t found a thing. No connection to Beil, Papenberg or Sigart.’

‘But I’ve got something.’ Beatrice held up the printout with the telephone numbers. ‘I’m ninety-nine per cent sure that the unidentified dead man is called Rudolf Estermann. He’s a rep for some dubious slimming products and—’

She stopped short. It must be because of how exhausted she was, but the connection had only just occurred to her.

‘Bea?’

She was already out of the door, running along the corridor towards her office and debating feverishly the quickest way of getting the necessary information.

Back at her computer, she typed Felix Estermann into the text field on the search engine. ‘Things that no one needs,’ she whispered.

Felix was nine and a member of the Sport Union Judo School. At the last club tournament, he had won third place in his age group. Beatrice clicked on the club’s photo gallery and found him in the fourth image. A slim child with dark hair, tanned skin and a beaming smile.

From left to right: Felix Estermann (9), Robert Heiss (9), Samuel Hirzer (10) , said the photo’s caption.

‘He has two sons, one of whom is called Felix.’

‘Excuse me?’

Beatrice spun around. Why on earth did Florin always have to creep up like that?

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you were talking to me.’

No. She had been talking to herself a lot recently; it was as if she could only understand her own thoughts if she voiced them out loud. She rubbed her hand against her forehead and tried to sort through her findings in her mind.

‘He’s the key figure. Rudolf Estermann.’ She rummaged frantically through the photos that were lying next to the computer screen in a disorderly pile. She bit back a curse as some of them slipped down to the floor. ‘“Here – listen. 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.”’ She held the picture out towards him and tapped her finger on the section she had read out. ‘It all fits.’