Five (4 page)

‘Forget it, doofus, it’s my cat.’

‘Silly moo!’

Mina ignored him. ‘If Papa calls again tonight, can I speak to him?’

‘Me too!’ yelped Jakob excitedly.

‘No. We don’t make phone calls at night-time. Papa will soon realise that.’

She got the children ready for bed and let the CD player read them the bedtime story she had no energy left for today. Then she sat down on the balcony with a glass of red wine and read back through her notes. Again and again, she kept coming back to the coordinates.

Letting the wine swill around in her mouth, she tried to taste the notes of blackcurrant and tobacco touted by the label on the bottle, but didn’t succeed. So she drank the glass down in one long gulp instead. Tiredness pulled at her with its heavy hands.

She turned her mobile off and unplugged the landline from the wall. Achim would have to find another way of amusing himself tonight.

Three yellow Post-its, full of Hoffmann’s indecipherable scrawl, were waiting for her the next morning on her computer monitor. A reminder about the reports. She rolled her eyes.

‘We’ll give Stefan the files, he needs practice anyway. Report writing is character building. Oh, and he’s already checked out the list of Nora Papenberg’s phone calls – and guess what!’ Florin was standing at the espresso machine in a get-up that was very unusual for him – cargo pants, T-shirt and hiking shoes – and was just finishing off his cocoa-powder-dusted masterpiece for Beatrice. ‘The call that we suspect lured her away from the party came from a telephone box on Maxglaner Hauptstrasse. I’ve sent forensics there, although I’m pretty sure they won’t find anything.’ He looked up. ‘Speaking of telephone calls – how was last night? Did you manage to get any peace?’

‘I did actually, but only because I unplugged or turned off anything that could possibly have rung. So I had seven outraged messages from him on the answerphone this morning, telling me he was out of his mind with worry about the kids because he couldn’t get through.’ She took a sip of coffee. It tasted wonderful.

‘Well, the important thing is that you were able to get some sleep. Listen, the pathologist’s report isn’t in yet, so I suggest we concentrate on another aspect of the case first.’

‘The coordinates?’

‘Exactly.’ He waved his mobile in the air. ‘I’ve just installed some new navigation software. It looks like we’re heading off into the sticks.’ He spread out a map and pointed his finger at a section of forest near the Wolfgangsee lake.

‘There? Are you sure?’ Beatrice wasn’t sure what she had been expecting from the location indicated by the coordinates. But certainly something more interesting than trees.

They took Florin’s car. Beatrice lowered the passenger-side window. May had only just begun, but it was acting like a much balmier month. Argentine tango played on the stereo. For a moment, she daydreamed that they were setting off on an adventure, with a picnic basket on the back seat and all the time in the world stretching out ahead of them.

A thought occurred to her. ‘What if the place we’re driving to only has some private significance? Like the scene of an argument? Or quite the opposite – a first kiss, a promise, a sexual act, something that happened between people but left behind no visible trace? Then the location may well be the key to the case, but we’ll never find the lock.’

Florin just smiled. ‘That’s very possible. But I don’t think we should ignore the tattoos either, do you? I can’t imagine that they’ll be of no use to us whatsoever.’

He was right, of course. And, worst-case scenario, they’d be spending a sunny May morning in the countryside, far away from Hoffmann and his Post-its. Just that alone made it all worth it.

‘What do you think we’re going to find?’ she asked, as the car wound its way along the serpentine road up the Heuberg mountain.

He shrugged. ‘Let’s see what jumps out at us. If I get something fixed in my mind I’m more likely to overlook the thing that really matters, just because it looks different to what I expected. By the way, you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve finally made a decision.’ Florin raised his eyebrows. That meant:
Ask me
.

‘About what?’

‘
Carpaccio di Manzo
.’

‘Come again?’

‘The antipasti problem, remember? Carpaccio’s the ideal solution; the perfect start to a wonderful meal. Anneke will love it.’

The air rushing past carried the scent of fresh earth and lilacs into the car.

‘I’m sure she will.’

They parked the car opposite a restaurant. The path in front of them led across a meadow, which was flanked by grand estates and a magnificently renovated old farmhouse on the right-hand side. Florin held his mobile out in front of him like a compass. ‘Four hundred and thirty metres as the crow flies if we head north-west. But I suggest we follow the path at first rather than fighting our way through the undergrowth the whole way.’

Apart from an elderly couple kitted out in Nordic walking gear, there was no one else to be seen in the woods that morning. The path crossed an astonishingly clear stream and branched off to the right at a yellow trail sign marked ‘
Steinklüfte
’, which showed the way to the stone chasm.

‘Not much further.’ Florin showed Beatrice his mobile, where the black-and-white destination flag had already come into view on the display. The path was becoming steeper now, winding upwards through high rocky crags, past fallen trees with toadstools growing out of their stumps. One tree trunk stretched out across the path, forming an archway.

‘All we’re going to find here is pretty scenery,’ murmured Beatrice. ‘How much further is it?’

‘A hundred and twenty metres.’

She started to keep a lookout for something unusual, but it was difficult when she didn’t have the slightest idea what this ‘something’ might be. There were rocks, numerous rocks of differing sizes. And another stream.

‘Forty metres,’ announced Florin.

All around them, huge stones propped one another up. Trees were even growing out of some of the steep, moss-covered formations.

‘Fifteen metres.’ Florin stopped in his tracks. ‘We should be able to see something from here.’ He set off again, but walking more slowly now, his eyes fixed on his mobile. Beatrice tried to ignore the tug of disappointment in the pit of her stomach. Okay, so there was nothing here, but that was only at first glance. It didn’t necessarily mean the coordinates were useless. They would have to take their time, be thorough. Assume that there was more behind the tattoos than a murderer with an unusual fetish for feet and numbers.

‘Here.’ Florin stopped again. ‘Somewhere within a three-metre radius of this spot; unfortunately the mobile won’t be any more precise than that.’

Dry leaves crackled under their feet as they slowly paced around. This spot didn’t look any different from all the others in the surrounding area: trees, rock formations, dead wood.

Beatrice pulled her camera out of her rucksack and started to take photos. She tried to capture everything; it was entirely possible that the pictures would reveal more to them later than they were taking in right now.

‘Over there is something called the “Devil’s Ravine”,’ commented Florin. ‘The name sounds appropriate, but they’re the wrong coordinates.’

‘Let’s take a look at it anyway.’ Beatrice sat down on one of the knee-high rocks and looked around. ‘So this is roughly the right spot?’

‘Yes, pretty much. It’s supposed to be eight metres to the east of where you’re sitting now – whatever
it
may be.’

She took a deep breath of exquisite sun-warmed air. It was filled with aromas. Resin, leaves, earth.

Eight metres.

She looked more closely at the terrain around her. No, there was nothing unusual. Just rocks.

But maybe they had to look further up? At the trees perhaps?

Shielding her eyes with her hand, Beatrice squinted in the sunlight, gazing up at the treetops and upper branches. But all she could see was forest.

No clues, no sign of any kind.

Florin’s expression betrayed the same dissatisfaction she herself was feeling, but his voice still sounded upbeat. ‘It seems you were right again, Bea. Who knows what significance this place has for our tattoo artist? What he may have experienced, seen or heard here, perhaps even years ago.’

‘Indeed.’ She took the water bottle he handed to her and drank three long gulps. But something felt wrong.

There is something, but we’re not seeing it. We’re doing something wrong
.

We’re not seeing it
. The thought stuck in her mind. We’re not seeing it because we’re not supposed to see it? Or because we need to try harder?

Her gaze settled on one of the taller rocks, which had a stone leaning against it. Colour-wise the stone hardly stood out, being just slightly paler, but unlike the rock behind it, it wasn’t covered in moss.

‘Or because it’s hidden,’ she said decidedly.

‘Sorry?’

Beatrice stood up and paced the short distance over towards the rock. She had to climb a little in order to get to the spot that had caught her attention. Holding onto a tree that had wound its roots around a lower piece of the rock, she pushed against the moss-free stone with her other hand. As she had suspected, it was just propped up against the rock. Behind it was a cavity, a small dark hollow. She took a close-up photograph, struggling to keep her balance in the process. For a split second, the flash from her camera illuminated something pale inside the hollow.

‘Look.’

Florin was clambering over to her, tugging a torch out of his rucksack. Its beam illuminated some earth and a few brown leaves, from beneath which a spider hurriedly scuttled away in search of new shelter. The light stretched back through the hole and picked up something white. Plastic.

Silently, they both took out their gloves and pulled them on. Florin reached his arm into the space and pulled out a box with a white-and-blue lid. An airtight food container. ‘It looks new,’ commented Beatrice.

‘It feels heavy. Full. Have you taken all the photos you need?’

She nodded.

‘Good, then let’s climb back down.’

They knelt next to one another on the soft forest floor. Florin unfastened the container on all four sides, then lifted the lid off carefully.

Something large, wrapped in kitchen towel. On top of it was a neatly folded note, not handwritten, but word-processed. Florin unfolded it, and Beatrice moved closer to him to be able to see properly.

Congratulations – you’ve found it!

This container is part of a game, a kind of modern treasure hunt using GPS. If you’ve stumbled upon this by accident, then this hunt has now come to an end for you. Close it again immediately and put it back where you found it. It’s in your own best interests, trust me
.

If you
were
looking for it, I’m sure the contents of my ‘treasure chest’ will be of interest to you. In contrast to the way this is normally done, you don’t need to put the container back in the same spot. Take it with you and search it for fingerprints. In one sense at least, you definitely won’t find any
.

TFTH

‘It sounds like it was hidden here especially for us,’ said Florin slowly. He folded the note up and slipped it into a plastic evidence bag. They both stared at the container and the thing that was awaiting them inside it, wrapped up in the kitchen towel. Then, although some irrational part of Beatrice was still hoping he wouldn’t, Florin reached for it. The paper towel slipped to the side.

Her first thought was that it had to be a fake. A Halloween prop, still in its original packaging. But her stomach responded more quickly than her mind, delivering a wave of nausea before she had even registered all the details.

‘Shit,’ whispered Florin.

‘Is it real?’

He took a deep breath and swallowed. ‘Yes. Do you see the frayed edges? I’m no expert, but … to me those look like the marks of a saw.’

Employing a painstakingly trained reflex, Beatrice suppressed the images hurtling into her mind and forced herself to look at it without emotion.

A hand. A male hand. Severed just below the wrist. Shrink-wrapped in a thick layer of plastic film, like vacuum-packed meat. The skin of the hand was white, with blueish discolouration on the tips of the fingers and around the nails.

She looked more closely at the amputation wound. She could see bone, and an artery that was protruding a little.

‘So this means we have a second body.’ Florin’s subdued voice sounded as if it was coming from far away.

‘Either that or a victim with only one hand.’

He nodded. ‘Or maybe someone just helped themselves to hospital waste. I’ll call Drasche.’

Beatrice hastily put the camera between herself and their find, taking a number of shots. Then she inhaled sharply and put the camera aside. ‘Florin! There’s something else in the box. Under the hand.’ She gingerly pulled out another piece of paper and unfolded it carefully. Florin put his mobile back in his pocket and came over to her side to read.

Unlike the first message, the words on this note were handwritten in ink, with broad arcs and loops.

Stage Two

You’re looking for a singer, a man by the name of Christoph, who has blue eyes and a birthmark on the back of his left hand. Some time ago – it may be five years or even six – he was a member of a Salzburg choir, in which he very proudly sang Schubert’s Mass in A flat. The last two numbers of his birth year are A. Now square A, add 37 and add the resulting sum to your northern coordinates
.

Take the sum of A and multiply by 10, then multiply A with this number. Subtract 229 and then subtract the resulting sum from your eastern coordinates. Welcome to Stage Two. We’ll see each other there
.

For a long moment, the birdsong around them was the only sound to be heard. Beatrice read the text a second and a third time. A man called Christoph? Schubert’s Mass in A flat?