‘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.’
She almost spat out her half-chewed mouthful of cabbage. ‘Yeah, sure. Listen, he doesn’t even talk to me when he picks the kids up. He looks at me as if I’m a stinking pile of rubbish that someone forgot to take out.’
Richard wiped a serviette across his forehead. ‘I believe you. But only because you’re the one who took everything he cared about away from him. If you were to give it back—’
‘You can’t be serious.’ She put her knife and fork down. ‘We’re not good for one another, Achim and I. We never were. He wants someone who enjoys the same things as him, who laughs at the same jokes. Who likes cooking and only works to bring money in.’ She snorted. ‘You would probably get on much better with him than I ever could.’
‘But it would make your life so much easier.’
‘Except it wouldn’t be my life any more.’
Richard twisted the serviette between his hands as though he wanted to strangle someone with it. ‘It’s because of what happened back then, right? You’ve become so much harder since then, Bea. You have to move on at some point, you can’t bring someone back to life by—’
‘That’s enough, okay?’ She pushed her plate away; at least she had eaten half of it. ‘I’m really grateful that Mama always helps out when I need it, and that you look after the children too. Really I am. But when it comes to Achim and what happened back then, as you put it, you don’t get a say.’ Without giving him a chance to react, she stood up, ruffled his hair and gave him a hug. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m not on the brink of burning out, but thank you for teaching Jakob a new word.’
‘You’re welcome.’ He held her at arm’s length for a moment and gave a sigh. ‘Is there anyone who understands what’s going on in your head, Bea?’
She smiled and shrugged.
Not that I know of.
She drove home slowly, the car radio turned up louder than usual. Once she got back, she would have a shower and then try to look at Stage Four with fresh eyes.
The car behind her seemed to have its headlights on full beam, because the reflection in the rear-view mirror was blinding her. Aggravated, she stepped on the accelerator to put some distance between them. But by the next traffic light, he was right behind her again. And at the next, and the one after that.
An uneasy feeling started to creep over Beatrice. She turned around. Was the car following her? It was impossible to see the driver’s face, but maybe she could at least make out the model of the car… No, she couldn’t.
At the next crossroads, she turned left, then right at the one after that. The car was still behind her. It was keeping to the same speed, not even overtaking when she slowed down and gave it the opportunity to.
There were two more turns before she would be back home. Then she would park and get a better look at her pursuer. But when she turned right at the next crossroads, the car drove straight on. She tried to catch a quick glimpse of the driver’s profile, but couldn’t see clearly enough; even the number plate was too dimly lit to be made out. She shook her head. She didn’t normally get so worked up about things. What was it that Richard had said about a burn-out?
Nonsense. She had all her wits about her and would only worry about it if she saw the car again in the next few days. It had been red, four-door – a Honda, if she wasn’t mistaken.
A thought rushed into her mind.
A red Honda Civic. The car Nora Papenberg used to drive. She sat at the living-room table, searching through her notes. It was probably just a coincidence; there was always a time in the midst of the investigations when it was common to overanalyse everything, and Beatrice was very familiar with this phenomenon.
Had the car following her really been a Civic? She had only seen it briefly from the side – it had been red, yes, and definitely a Honda, but other than that?
She filed the thought away for the time being and took the photos from the most recent cache out of her bag. For the next two hours, she sat there studying the photos and letters, staring at Nora Papenberg’s writing and trying in vain to find someone on Geocaching.com whose profile would prompt that familiar ‘click’ in her mind.
His quota is over 2,000. He never concedes defeat. Was there a way of filtering users with over 2,000 finds? Apparently not. That night, in spite of all her efforts, Stage Four refused to reveal its secrets.
The news reached Beatrice on a cool morning from which the drizzle had slowly but persistently washed away all colour. She arrived in the office at the same time as the phone calclass="underline" a male body had been found near the Salzach lake. Three fishermen had pulled the corpse from its hiding place after spotting a naked foot protruding from the reeds at the water’s edge.