That evening, Beatrice left the office earlier than usual. She drove over to see her mother and the children first, then headed home and set her laptop up on the living-room table.
Name: DescartesHL.
Password: skyblue.
One click of the mouse and Liebscher’s geocaching profile page was in front of her. The finds from the last thirty days were shown first, listed under the Geocaches link, and it seemed Liebscher had been active until shortly before his death. The most recent entry was twenty-two days old, a multi-cache near the Traunsee lake.
Challenging, but worth it! he had written in his online logbook. TFTC!
Three days before that, he had gone on a lengthier expedition, logging eight finds. None of the entries revealed any unusual observations. He praised original hiding places or the beautiful scenery the search had led him to, and expressed his gratitude on every one.
Beatrice worked backwards chronologically. There was a tricky mystery cache which Liebscher was very proud to have solved; according to his comment he had left a coin behind, presumably one of the special caching ones they had found in his apartment. He had also logged three multi-caches and twenty-four ‘traditionals’, in other words, caches without difficult additional puzzles.
She had now reached mid-March of this year, and had almost given up hope. The most exciting comments had been along the lines of: Looked by the wrong rock to start with, but the hiding place became clear after a quick look around. Coordinates are a little off!
But then came the entry from 12 March. It was just a ‘traditional’, but it made Beatrice’s inner divining rod lurch. The cache was in central Salzburg, hidden in a park near the Leopoldskron Palace.
Original idea! Liebscher had written. Discovered along with Shinigami. TFTC!
It was the only entry so far that made reference to a fellow cacher. And the same applied to the other three finds Liebscher had logged on 12 March. He and Shinigami seemed to have spent the whole day together on a collaborative treasure hunt.
She scrolled on. On 10 March there were two caches, but no reference to a companion. But four days before that, on 6 March, Shinigami was there again:
Great hiding place, but the logbook is almost full! Found together with Shinigami. TFTC!
Okay. Every finder documented his success on the page of the cache in question, so Shinigami’s comment should be recorded there too. She opened the link and looked through the comments to 6 March. There was DescartesHL, and directly above him Shinigami, who had not made his entry until three days later.
She read, realising at once that there was something she could put her finger on here. Or rather someone.
Found with DescartesHL. Sometimes we find, and sometimes we’re found, isn’t that true? TFTC.
And to the rest of you: TFTH.
The rest of you, thought Beatrice. That’s us.
Shinigami’s profile was empty. Of course it was. The only information on there was his registration date and cache finds. The list was short: seven caches, all discovered in March and April this year. Shinigami had registered on 26 February. Barely a week before he first went on a hunt with DescartesHL.
It took Beatrice no more than three minutes to confirm her suspicion. Shinigami had found all seven caches together with Herbert Liebscher, and in all seven entries he had not only expressed his thanks for the cache, but for the hunt too.
She managed to catch Florin while he was still at the office; he picked up straight away.
‘Has something happened?’
‘What? No, everything’s fine. But I found something.’ She took a sip of cold coffee from the sorry remains of her breakfast still on the countertop, then grimaced. ‘I’m ninety per cent sure that the Owner went geocaching with Liebscher. I’m sending you the link. Take a look.’
In the blink of an eye, the mail was sent. Down the line, Beatrice heard Florin click on it. Then another click.
‘It’s the entry above DescartesHL, the sixth of March.’
‘Shinigami.’ Florin’s voice was as clear as if he was sitting right next to her. ‘Sounds Japanese.’
The overseas students at the Mozarteum came into her mind. Maybe we’ll have to check them out after all, thought Beatrice resignedly. Nothing could be ruled out, nothing at all.
‘We’ll look into it – I’ll check whether Stefan or Bechner are still here. We need the real identity behind the pseudonym. This is great progress – thanks, Bea.’
It was unusual for him to thank her, and it left a strange aftertaste. Was he trying to counterbalance Hoffmann’s attacks?
‘Don’t mention it.’
‘Now go and get some sleep. I’m stopping soon too.’
‘Soon.’ In the background, she heard his mobile ring, the tone he had programmed for Anneke. He would be in a hurry to go now anyway. ‘See you tomorrow, Florin,’ she said, hanging up before he could.
Liebscher’s first cache find was almost seven years ago, meaning that he must have gotten a taste for the treasure hunt long before it had become a trend. His enthusiasm was clearly audible in his log entries, and he had gone out geocaching practically every weekend. Most of the caches he’d found back then didn’t even exist any more: a red line through them meant they’d been archived. Only a small number of caches seemed to last more than four or five years.
Treasure hunting by GPS had clearly been one of Liebscher’s favourite pastimes for a number of years, and then…
Beatrice stopped. She scrolled up, then further down, checking the dates. No, she hadn’t been mistaken. After a weekend in Vienna that had brought him eighteen new finds, there was a break of a year and a half. Not one single cache. Nothing.
Had he been ill? Or had the divorce sapped too much of his energy? She would have to ask at the school.
After the gap, his approach seemed more hesitant. There was around one registered find a month, two at most, and the log entries seemed less detailed than the older ones.
Quickly found, TFTC. Aside from the ones she had read earlier, most were very brief indeed.
But why? Beatrice looked at the clock. It was half-past ten, much too late to phone Romana Liebscher now. Tomorrow.
She clapped the laptop shut and went to the kitchen, where she found herself unable to decide between sparkling water and the last bottle of beer which had been sitting in the fridge door for months on end now.
Water. She drank it straight out of the bottle, enjoying the prickling sensation of the bubbles in her mouth, her throat, her stomach. She suppressed a burp, then wondered who she was trying to be polite for.
Intent on enjoying just ten minutes of free time before going to bed, she walked over to the window and looked out at the night sky over the city. There was almost a full moon, another three days to go at most.
‘Shinigami,’ she whispered to the moon. She took a long slug of water and pulled the curtains shut, just in case she was being watched. Then she smacked herself on the forehead in disbelief and ran back over to the coffee table.
Why hadn’t she checked right away? Now she’d have to start up the laptop again, the rattling old heap.
Google was generous with its answers: A shinigami was a Japanese death spirit, regarded as a bad omen. Beatrice fumbled blindly behind her, grasped the lint-covered blanket from the reclining chair and pulled it around her shoulders.