He liked taking things literally. And he wasn’t willing to admit that he didn’t know what the date referred to. If he had even an inkling of what significance it held for Beatrice then his message would have read differently, she was sure of that.
In the hope of being able to get back to sleep, she lay down in bed and closed her eyes. She had set the alarm for seven. But sleep had now escaped her, and unfortunately without taking the tiredness along with it. Beatrice stayed in bed regardless, mentally scanning every single word in the Owner’s message.
What would he say if she asked him about Sigart, whether he was still alive? Or if she asked him for another clue for Stage Four?
He would continue to be cryptic, just the same as always. You come to me – how original.
With a deep sigh, Beatrice turned onto her side. Her instinct was urging her to forget the search for Stage Four temporarily, to leave Liebscher’s remaining body parts to their vacuum-packed fate. Because if there was any conceivable pattern at all, it was that the Owner waited until the police made a find before he pounced. In all likelihood, the best thing they could do to protect the people he had chosen was to play dumb.
‘I have a used-car salesman, a sales coach and a calendar salesman, each of whom have two sons including one called Felix.’ Stefan beamed as he held some papers under her nose. ‘Now, is that good work or what?’
‘It’s –’ Beatrice glanced quickly through the pages – ‘wonderful, Stefan.’
‘I carried on researching from home until I found them. Who do you think we should start with? Look, here are the addresses, so if we visit the calendar guy first—’
She held her hand up to interrupt him. ‘Not today. We’ll discuss it with the team, but I think we should hold off with Stage Four for now.’
‘What? Why?’
His obvious disappointment made him look even younger than he did already. She patted him gently on the shoulder. ‘We need to be cautious. It didn’t turn out too well for Beil and Sigart after we spoke to them.’
‘You think—?’
‘I’m not sure. But it seems like the Owner just wants to shove people under our noses before ultimately killing them. So we’re not going to play that game any more.’
Stefan mumbled something that sounded both dejected and acquiescent at the same time.
‘Come to the office for a bit.’ She pulled him gently along the corridor. ‘I’ll make us some coffee.’
Kossar agreed with her entirely. Their new approach was not giving the Owner what he wanted, but instead luring him out of his hiding place. The psychologist was wearing different glasses today: blue frames with a dark red pattern. They clashed intensely with his green eyes.
‘This is the most personal message he’s sent you yet, Beatrice. He’s spurring you on, reacting to the date you gave and inviting you to come and find him. That goes far beyond merely transmitting information.’
‘It’s just that I don’t believe I can coax him into giving up Sigart, no matter what I write, and that’s really—’ She saw Stefan and Kossar exchange a brief glance. ‘I see. You both think he’s already dead.’ The memory of that April night twelve years ago fought its way back into Beatrice’s mind. The memory of Evelyn’s face – first alive, then dead. She pushed the image away, forcing herself to think of Sigart, his pale expression, devoid of all hope. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ll repeat myself as often as I have to – so long as we haven’t found a body, I won’t give up on him.’
‘Neither will I,’ she heard Florin say as he entered the room. ‘If he was alive yesterday, then the chances aren’t bad that he’s still alive today.’
The only problem was that they didn’t have the faintest idea where to look for him. Further questioning of his neighbours hadn’t brought any results. But how was that possible? Had the noise really not startled anyone, had no one even looked through the peephole in their front door?
‘We heard the struggle ourselves on the phone, and know that at least one of the witnesses in the building heard it too, even though he misinterpreted it.’ Florin was propping up his chin with one hand while doodling in a squared notepad with the other, drawing snake-like lines that ended in crooked fingers. ‘Okay, Sigart lives on the first floor, so the route to the cellar isn’t far, but the Owner must still have been incredibly quick.’
Beatrice’s eyes followed the intertwining lines and picked up on his thoughts. ‘He grabbed him by the arms and pulled him down the stairs. The bloody shoe print –’ she pulled the corresponding photo towards her – ‘was pointing up the stairs. So either the Owner went down the stairs backwards, or he went back up again.’
‘Backwards,’ Florin surmised. ‘He was pulling Sigart down behind him.’
The telephone rang. Bea’s contact in the mobile provider’s technical department reported that the text message earlier that morning had been sent from a location near Golling, around twenty kilometres south of Salzburg.
‘It wasn’t even 6 a.m.’ Beatrice tapped her pen agitatedly on her notepad. ‘The Owner must have to sleep at some point too; after all, he’s got a hell of a workload. If he gets too tired he’ll make mistakes, which he won’t want to risk, so it’s very likely he lives near Golling. Or that he’s at least staying there temporarily.’
‘Unless,’ Stefan interjected, ‘he’s not alone. I mean, you agree that Nora Papenberg may have been his accomplice. It’s possible that there are more.’
They had discussed this idea a number of times, with differing results. Kossar rejected the theory every time, and today was no exception. ‘The person composing these puzzles is clearly conceited. The Owner wants to prove he’s better than us, but his success will only be fully satisfactory if he, and only he, can take all the credit. I’m absolutely convinced that we’re looking for a lone perpetrator.’
‘So then how do we explain Nora Papenberg’s role?’
Kossar only needed a few seconds to answer. ‘It’s possible that he needed help at the start. But at soon as things were going to plan, he—’
A knock at the door interrupted his flow. One of the secretaries came in – Jutta, Jette, Jasmin? Beatrice cursed her appalling memory for names – bearing a bunch of flowers wrapped up in paper, their scent mingling with the aroma of the coffee.
‘These were delivered for you, Frau Kaspary.’ She winked, laid the flowers on the desk and headed off.
‘Just a moment!’ Beatrice called after her, but the woman had already pulled the door shut behind her. Kossar was grinning as if the bunch had been sent by him personally.
‘Come on then, show us!’
Beatrice slowly pulled the cellophane off the paper. For a brief moment, the thought occurred to her that Florin might have sent them. But why would he send flowers? A quick glance revealed that he seemed as confused as she was.
She dispatched the first layer of cellophane into the wastepaper bin, admitting to herself that she was just trying to buy time with all the fumbling, then ripped the packaging open.
White calla and violet lilies. Three spruce twigs. Baby’s breath. All tied together with a white-and-gold ribbon.
Her body reacted more quickly than her mind. She rushed out of the office and got to the bathroom just in time. She threw up her breakfast and the coffee she had only just drunk, still retching even after her stomach had nothing left to give. But not even the smell of vomit was enough to drown out the scent of the flowers, still clinging mercilessly in her nose. It had been a mistake to believe that 21 May would be a date just like any other to the Owner. He knew what role the day played in Beatrice’s life, and that clearly wasn’t all he knew.