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.
‘Hello, Beatrice.’
She stopped silently in front of him, her arms folded. He tried to smile, but it was a less than convincing attempt. Seemingly aware of that, he looked down at the ground.
He wants something from me, thought Beatrice, feeling the muscles in her shoulders start to relax. Otherwise he would just come straight out with it.
‘You’ve got a lot on at the moment, haven’t you?’ An understanding tone. It sounded almost genuine.
‘Yes. We’re under a lot of pressure.’
‘I understand. Well, this is the thing… I know the children like being at your mother’s, and that she likes having them around, but…’ He was clearly finding it difficult to maintain a calm tone; Beatrice was very familiar with the slight redness creeping up his neck.
‘But I see them so rarely. And I’d love to have them with me if you don’t have time. Even at short notice. It would help us both.’
At this moment, here and now, Achim really meant it; there was no question of that. But she still couldn’t let him off that lightly. ‘For you that would be like a double jackpot, wouldn’t it?’ she said. ‘You’d get more time with the children, and each time it happened you’d get the opportunity to use my job against me.’
He raised his hands. ‘This isn’t about us and our issues – it’s about Mina and Jakob. I know they’d like to spend more time with me.’
She felt a sharp stabbing sensation in her gut. ‘Did they say that?’
‘Mina did. Does that bother you so much? That they miss their father?’
Yes. No. Of course not. ‘Of course not. What bothers me is that you speak badly of me to them. It was only the other day that the expression “offloading them” came up when I took them to Mooserhof.’ Realising that her tone had become sharper, she tried to calm herself down. ‘Mina certainly didn’t learn the expression from me, at least not in this context.’
It was clear that a retort was on Achim’s tongue, but with some effort he managed to suppress it. He pulled an open pack of Camels out of his shirt pocket, but on looking at her he seemed to think twice and put it back. ‘It’s possible that I blurted it out once, but that’s only because I haven’t yet got used to everything being… different. And I didn’t want things to be like this. I still don’t.’
Sure. So everything’s my fault then, thought Beatrice. ‘It’s an adjustment for all of us. Listen, I have to get back to work – but you’re right. The next time I need some help, I’ll call you first.’
He smiled, with genuine happiness this time. Beatrice would have smiled back had there not been a glimmer of triumph in his eyes.
‘Have a good day, Achim.’ She held her hand out, which clearly surprised him, but he grasped it nonetheless.
‘I mean it, Beatrice, I want us to get on better again.’
‘Okay.’ She pulled her hand back. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘The woman who ordered the flowers was brunette and slightly overweight. She paid in cash.’ Stefan was reading from his notepad. ‘The saleswoman couldn’t place her accent. Turkish or Hungarian, she said.’
‘Well, I’m not surprised, they’re practically the same,’ remarked Florin sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. For the first time since they’d started working on the case, he seemed anxious.
Beatrice was only half-listening to the conversation. Her enquiry with the provider hadn’t revealed any new information. Since the text message that morning, the Owner had kept the mobile turned off.
Sensing that the ball was in her court again, Beatrice opened a new message on her mobile.
Thanks for the flowers, she typed. I’d like to compliment you on your attention to detail and ask you to answer just one simple question for me: How is Bernd Sigart?
Would the Owner think the message was ridiculous? Probably. But she wasn’t in the mood for playing it safe with subtle hints any more.
For a moment, she contemplated mentioning the coordinates and the bridge, but decided against it. She didn’t want to distract from the main thrust of the message.