‘The last time we saw him he was planning to release you from your confidentiality clause,’ Beatrice added. ‘There’s a chance that he’s still alive, and we’re using all the means we can to find him, but we need some leads to go on. Can you give us any?’
They could see from Anja Maly’s face that she was deep in thought. ‘He told me about your visit and said it was connected to investigations for a murder case.’ She pointed towards a sand-coloured sofa and waited for them to take a seat before she herself sat down. ‘My God, the poor man. I presume you know his history? He comes to me once or twice a week, and we’re trying to work on what happened, to find a way for him to accept it as part of his life – but I have to admit we’re making very slow progress.’ She clasped her hands around her knees and shook her head. ‘And now he’s a victim again. It’s unbelievably tragic.’
Let’s look for a victim echoed in Beatrice’s mind. She had been convinced that the Owner was alluding to Evelyn, but maybe she was wrong. Maybe he had meant Sigart, and had been announcing what he was about to do. A loser, a victim – the two were closely linked.
‘We have reason to believe that he knew the suspect and opened the door to him,’ said Florin. ‘Sigart mentioned to us that he almost never leaves the house and doesn’t have contact with anyone. Are there any exceptions?’ He smiled at the therapist. Even though Maly barely moved a muscle in her face, Beatrice could tell that the smile was having the desired effect.
‘Wait a moment, I’ll just get my notes.’
She pulled a thick blue ring binder out of a lockable cupboard and opened it towards the end. ‘The last few times he was here we mainly spoke about his sleeping problems and the fact that he was going to try to leave the house more often.’ She flicked forwards. ‘He was having nightmares a lot, and increasingly suicidal thoughts. But he never mentioned any acquaintances. I don’t think he even knew his neighbours by name.’ She looked at the next page, read some more, then shook her head. ‘It’s very sad. He was living in complete isolation.’ She stopped for a moment, laying her index finger on the page she had in front of her. ‘Wait, this could be of interest to you. In his last session he told me he’d felt like someone was following him on one of his walks. When I tried to find out more, he just shrugged it off and said it was probably his guilty conscience.’ She looked up. ‘His feelings of guilt were always a major topic in our sessions. He was convinced he was responsible for his family’s deaths, and resisted all attempts to relativise it.’
Beatrice leant forwards. ‘You said he thought he was being followed?’
‘Yes. But not threatened, it seems. He didn’t think it was worthy of anything more than a brief mention, and also said he didn’t see or recognise anyone. I think he thought it was just his imagination.’
Like I did the other day, thought Beatrice. The blinding lights in the rear-view mirror.
‘Did he mention any phone calls? Was there someone who might have got in touch out of the blue, a new or old acquaintance perhaps?’
Maly shook her head emphatically. ‘No. From time to time the vet who took over his surgery would call, whenever she had questions. Sigart’s parents aren’t around any more, and he completely broke off contact with his former friends. He didn’t want—’
She was interrupted by Beatrice’s phone beeping.
Beatrice quickly pressed the red button in order to stop the message tone. ‘Excuse me for a moment, please.’ She turned away, recognising the Owner’s number, and felt her face start to burn up.
This time it was a picture message. The text said NM. Just those two letters, nothing more. The attached picture took around three seconds to load, but even once it appeared Beatrice wasn’t sure at first what she was looking at. She rotated the phone a little, then suddenly everything became clear. She suppressed the noise that was trying to force its way out of her, something between a curse and a groan.
‘Something urgent?’ asked Florin.
‘Yes. I’m afraid we’re going to have to excuse ourselves, Dr Maly. Thank you very much indeed for your help.’
The therapist accompanied them to the door. ‘Could you let me know when you find out where he is?’
‘Of course. Thank you again.’ Beatrice practically pulled Florin out of the practice, down the steps and over to the car, where she leaned against the driver’s door.
He stood next to her. ‘I take it that was from the Owner.’
‘It certainly was.’ She opened the picture and handed Florin her mobile. ‘You tell me whether that’s good or bad news.’
‘Oh, God.’ He looked closely at the picture, then gave her the phone back. ‘It looks terrible.’
The image was sharp, and in spite of the small display, new details jumped out at Beatrice every time she looked. The pale arm with the dirty sleeves, pushed up to the elbow. The pile of bloody gauze bandages, crumpled on the brown tabletop. And the hand. Three fingers and a gruesome wound where the little and ring finger had once been. Dark red, almost black in places.
‘Let’s drive back to the office and enlarge the photo as much as we can,’ said Beatrice. ‘Some of the background is visible, so maybe it will give us some clues.’
‘NM.’ Frowning in concentration, Florin pointed at the message attached to the photo. ‘Could it be initials this time? Is he giving us clues to his name, or perhaps the next victim’s?’
‘I don’t think so. If I remember rightly, it’s another geocaching abbreviation and means “needs maintenance”.’
‘This guy has a pretty sick sense of humour,’ muttered Florin. He flung open the car door and sat down behind the wheel. ‘Let’s go. We need some extra people on the case to question the neighbours again, shine a light on the other victims’ social circles and search through the geocaching sites. We have to find Sigart before the Owner kills him.’
The photo was easy to enlarge and revealed further chilling details. They had summoned Vogt from the pathologist’s office, and he was now sitting in front of Beatrice’s computer, his hands folded into a steeple in front of his mouth.
‘I can’t be completely certain, but I suspect the fingers were severed with one single blow. Have a look for an axe or a sharp kitchen knife as possible weapons.’
Florin pointed at the image. ‘The man is likely to also have a neck wound and has lost a lot of blood. I know you can only see the arm in the picture – but do you think he’s still alive?’
Vogt zoomed in further on the section showing the hand and moved his face so close to the screen that his nose was almost touching it. ‘Well, he at least lived for some time after the fingers were severed, because the edges of the wound seem slightly inflamed, and you can see the first stages of the healing process.’ He pushed his glasses right up to the top of his nose. ‘It also looks as though the hand muscles are tensed. So it’s likely that he was still alive when the photo was taken. I can’t give you any guarantees though.’
Guarantees weren’t necessary. For Beatrice, Sigart was alive until proved otherwise. ‘We’ll speak to Konrad Papenberg again,’ she said after Vogt had left. ‘This whole thing started with his wife – her handwriting is on the cache notes and Liebscher’s blood on her clothing. In one way or another, she must be the key to this case.’
‘But she’s not the key figure, at least not according to the Owner,’ Florin interjected. His fingers were drumming out a speedy rhythm on the surface of the desk. ‘He hasn’t yet given us any false information in his messages, have you noticed that? He doesn’t lie to us, so if he says someone is the key figure, then we should identify that person as quickly as possible.’