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.’
He caught on right away. ‘This Estermann guy is a sales rep, you said?’
‘Yes. He sells diet pills to chemists. His wife hasn’t heard from him in a few days. It all fits, Florin!’ Beatrice pointed her pen at the screen. ‘And that’s the son called Felix. I phoned the wife and told her we’d be coming round.’
‘Good. Vogt wants to start the autopsy at twelve, so we’ve got two hours.’ He picked his keys up from the table. ‘Let’s go.’
They weren’t even out of the door before Beatrice’s phone beeped. The tone was making her skin crawl by now; she would have to change it. As soon as the case was over.
FTF. But don’t let it get you down, chin up.
That was all. And it was yet another caching abbreviation; she remembered having seen it on the list. On their way out, she flung open the door to Stefan’s office.
‘Call the telephone company and find out which network the Owner was connected to two minutes ago.’
He looked up. ‘Okay.’
‘And remind me what “FTF” means?’
‘First to find. If you find a cache first, then—’
‘Great, thanks.’
First to find. He had been quicker than her, had worked out that they would use all the means they had to protect anyone his clues led them to from now on. But he didn’t want that; he had wanted to pour acid into Estermann…
And then those sarcastic words of consolation. Don’t let it get you down, chin up. What a sadistic bastard.
‘I think things are about to get even more gruesome,’ she said, as Florin steered the car out of the car park.
He glanced at her sideways. ‘Not necessarily. Nora Papenberg died quickly, but before that he cut Liebscher’s ear off, and we don’t yet know how he killed him in the end. Sigart has already lost two fingers. Who knows what else he did to him before…’
Even though Florin didn’t say it out loud, Beatrice read the message between the lines. He no longer believed they would find Sigart alive.
Five dead bodies in just a couple of weeks. My God.
Stefan phoned shortly before they reached Graciella Estermann’s apartment. ‘Bea? You won’t believe this! The last text message from the Owner – he was connected to the UMTS cell on the roof of police headquarters.’
‘Shit.’ He couldn’t have disappeared again that quickly. Had they driven right past him? Beatrice suppressed the impulse to ask Florin to turn around. There was no point now. ‘Thanks, Stefan. Could you have a walk around and keep an eye on who’s in the building? Just to make sure, I don’t really believe that the Owner is still there, but—’
‘But it can’t hurt just in case. Of course.’
She told Florin what Stefan had said. ‘He’s lurking nearby. It seems like the news blackout is having the desired effect – he’s hungry for information.’ She turned around and peered through the rear window. Behind them was a white Vauxhall Astra with a dark blonde woman at the wheel. ‘When we park let’s pay attention to whether anyone else stops nearby.’
‘Or,’ Florin replied slowly, ‘whether someone’s already here. I mean, I’m sure he’s worked out that we’ll have found out the dead man’s name by now. It’s the logical next step to go and see the widow.’
For the last five minutes of their journey, Beatrice stared silently out of the window. She would have to speak to Kossar again. The Owner’s increasing proximity was an opportunity they couldn’t allow to slip through their fingers.
There wasn’t anyone suspicious around when they got out of the car in front of the house. Nor did anyone seem to be paying them any attention whatsoever. A woman with a shopping basket in one hand and a whining child in the other made her way past them, but that was all.