‘You were spot on,’ announced Stefan shortly before midday. He was still very chirpy, and had even managed to clamp down the rebellious strands of hair. ‘Wishfulthinker28 is a Nora Winter with an Austrian postal address – I just got the confirmation through.’ He laid a printout on Beatrice’s desk, shaking his head slightly as if trying to chase away an unwelcome thought. ‘Do you think we’re dealing with someone who’s targeting and killing geocachers?’
‘It’s too early to say. But could you please do something for me? Ring Carolin Dalamasso and ask her whether her daughter used to be a geocacher before—’
She stopped. Of course. It all fitted.
‘Before the breakdown, you mean? Of course, will do. What’s up?’
The dates. ‘Sorry, Stefan, I have to check something.’
Melanie Dalamasso’s breakdown. Yes, that was it. The same summer. Twelve days after Nora Papenberg had found her last cache.
Four cups of coffee later, Beatrice was no longer sure whether her agitated state was a side effect of the caffeine or whether she really was on the brink of what she and Florin called the ‘last twist of the kaleidoscope’. One more detail, one more piece of information, and the chaos would give way to meaning: the picture would become clear. Beatrice could feel the moment drawing close, just as she did every time. She wished the realisation would come, but at the same time she was afraid of it. Because, in most cases, the final picture was a particularly ugly one.
When she packed her bag at around half-past nine that evening, the moment still hadn’t come. If anything, that afternoon it had taken a step backwards. It may have been surprisingly simple to find out Nora Papenberg’s cacher alias, but their attempt to do the same with Christoph Beil and Rudolf Estermann had been fruitless.
Beil had been active on very few Internet forums, and he hadn’t concealed his identity in the slightest. The different combinations of forenames and surnames he had used online hadn’t brought up any results on Geocaching.com. And nor had Grizzly Bear.
When it came to Estermann, it seemed he had only used his computer for business purposes. His browser history was a mix of the homepages of pharmacies and beauty salons.
‘Rudo’, as his wife had called him, had been a damp squib too, regardless of the combinations they tried. Beatrice had got tired, worrying that her dwindling concentration might make her miss something if she continued to push.
She was just putting on her seat belt and about to turn the key in the ignition when her phone rang.
‘I’m taking the children to my place tomorrow,’ said Achim, without a single word of greeting. ‘What on earth goes on in that head of yours? Do you really think you can just shove them aside whenever it suits you?’
The goodwill he had shown during their last encounter had clearly evaporated.
‘I’m not shoving them aside. I’m battling one of the most difficult cases I’ve ever worked on. This isn’t normal day-to-day life.’ She sighed. ‘This is an exceptional circumstance. I thought you understood that.’
When he replied, his voice was less cold, but flat and toneless. ‘This is all so messed up, Bea. I think I could provide Mina and Jakob with a more stable life, one without any exceptional circumstances. The only thing standing in the way of that is your egotism.’
If it hurts to hear it, does that mean it’s true?
‘You’re being unfair.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Fetch the children tomorrow then. I’ll tell my mother. Then I’ll come see you the day after tomorrow and we’ll discuss everything. It’s possible that everything here will have settled down by then anyway.’
He laughed, sounding genuinely amused. ‘As if that were ever true. Who are you trying to kid, Bea? If it’s me, then don’t bother. That train left the station a long time ago.’
Half-past ten. She showered – hot, cold and then hot again – but the raw feeling in the pit of her stomach remained.
No more Internet research for today. She lay down naked on the bed, feeling the cool linen against her back and wishing the children were asleep in the next room.
A blurry shape moved on the ceiling. A spider’s web? She resolved to clear it first thing tomorrow with the broom; it would be good to be able to clear something up in a quick, uncomplicated manner …
Her mobile ringtone catapulted her out of a deep sleep. Her heart was beating fast and frantically against her ribs, something must have happened—
‘Did I wake you, Frau Kommissar?’ His enunciation was slurred.
‘Achim, I swear I’ll report you.’
‘I don’t care. I spoke to my mother, she—’
Beatrice ended the call and put the mobile down next to her on the bed. She looked at her shaking hands in the light of the bedside lamp, which was still shining brightly.
To hell with it. She would call in sick tomorrow and spend the day with the children. Bring the exceptional circumstances to an end. Things couldn’t carry on like this.
Her pulse was beating far too quickly and far too hard. Damned coffee. After a glance at the clock – it was only half-past midnight, thank God – she curled up, pulled the blanket over her shoulders and closed her eyes. Some breathing exercises would steady her pulse; she just had to concentrate on not letting any other thoughts come into her mind, and then she would be able to switch off.
But in the darkness behind her closed eyelids, Melanie Dalamasso appeared, screaming, trying to bang her head against the door frame …
No. Enough.
She couldn’t get Dalamasso out of her mind, though. She was the one they were looking for, the torn woman – so why hadn’t there been anything at the coordinates? Were they just a clue to future events, as they had been once before? Had the Owner planned to dump Dalamasso on the Bundesstrasse?
Beatrice turned over in bed. Shut up, she ordered her inner voice.
Dalamasso’s breakdown had occurred, Liebscher hadn’t gone near a GPS device in a year and a half, Papenberg had given up geocaching for ever. Caesuras, both small and large, within a short space of time.
But not on the same day.
Beatrice gave up. The chance of sleep had retreated from her like the sea ebbing away from the shore. She pulled on a T-shirt, fetched a glass of water from the kitchen, and turned on her laptop.
The green of the geocaching website banner shone out into the darkness of her living room. Without knowing what she was looking for, she opened Nora Papenberg’s profile page. Some users entered their home town under Location. Wishfulthinker28 hadn’t, and nor had Herbert Liebscher.
She would go through the 133 caches in reverse order, reading every entry closely. Maybe she would stumble across something, maybe there would be a meeting with Shinigami or a clue about other cacher friends. Christoph Beil, for example.
A very amusingly disguised container, my compliments to the owner! Nora had written about her penultimate find. I almost gave up, but a flash of inspiration at the last moment pointed me in the right direction. TFTC!
Next entry, 18 June: Simple, but not entirely without its challenges – TFTC!
Another one that same day: Tricky, but we were victorious in the end. Woohoo! TFTC, Wishfulthinker28.
There was no indication of who ‘we’ referred to. Beatrice clicked on the page of the archived cache and found a certain BibiWalz who had also entered the find on 18 June. She was still active, with the number 1877 in brackets next to her nickname and a gallery containing over thirty photos, which Beatrice looked at one by one. BibiWalz was blonde, freckled, chubby and a complete unknown. But she made a note of the name just in case.
Working backwards the next cache was from 15 June. Nora’s entry conveyed sheer excitement. My first night cache! Found together with CreepyCrawly. We set off on our adventure armed with chocolate, crisps and a torch, and arrived at our destination in just over an hour. The path signs reliably showed us the way, and we weren’t afraid for even a second. Compliments to the owner of the listing. TFTC times a thousand!
&n
bsp; CreepyCrawly? Beatrice searched for the owner of this strange pseudonym, but his or her profile was just as sparse as those belonging to Nora and Liebscher. Again, she made a note regardless.
The next cache, a week before that: This was a really great cache; I never knew this beautiful church was here, TFTC!
Gradually, the tiredness began to creep back into Beatrice’s body. Ignoring it, she clicked on the next link in the list. Blinded by the ceiling light, she leant back and squinted.
A memory returned to her mind with the force of a hammer. Light. Reflection. Where was it again? She looked for the right page. Yes, there it was; Nora’s enthusiasm about the adventure … there were even photos of the cache, not from her, but taken by other cachers. View the Image Gallery of 25 images.
One click and it all became clear. Beatrice clapped her laptop shut, pulled on her jeans and a jacket over her T-shirt and was already at the door by the time she realised she’d forgotten the most essential tool: a torch.
Achim had given Jakob one for his birthday, an LED torch in which the batteries were alleged to last for ever. Where was it again? Hopefully he hadn’t taken it …
No, here it was. Beatrice put it in her bag and grabbed her mobile as she left.
Once she was sitting in the car, she remembered that she’d only be able to reach the emergency team at this hour. Which was possibly for the best – her intuition probably didn’t hold up to closer inspection.
Nonsense. You’re right and you know it. We know everything, and yet we find nothing – the Owner made himself very clear.
But nonetheless, Beatrice wasn’t comfortable about going in without any backup. No one would give her an approving pat on the back for playing a lone hand again; quite the opposite, in fact.
It was 1.45 in the morning. She phoned Florin, preparing herself for drowsy disorientation. She let it ring twice, three times, five times, then hung up before the mailbox kicked in.
Never mind. It was better that he got some sleep. She wouldn’t put herself in any danger; she would just drive out there to see if she was right. It was entirely possible that her hunch was just a figment of her imagination.
She hadn’t even driven 500 metres by the time her phone rang.
‘What’s happened?’
She almost laughed out loud with relief. Florin sounded wide awake and completely alert.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter. What’s going on?’
‘I’m driving out to the Dalamasso coordinates. We found something there – we just didn’t realise.’
‘What?’ She heard him take a deep breath. ‘But why now? In the middle of the night?’
‘That’s the only time it will make sense. Trust me.’
She picked him up fifteen minutes later. He had insisted on coming, and she hadn’t protested for very long.
‘Morning,’ he said as he opened the passenger-side door. He didn’t seem to have had enough time to brush his hair or button up his polo shirt, but he did have his gun with him.
‘Thanks for calling me back. It feels better if there’s two of us.’
‘No need to thank me. But it would be even better if there were twenty of us, so we’ll phone the base once we’ve made sure you’re right.’
‘Okay.’ She turned the radio on. Phil Collins was singing ‘In the Air Tonight’, the song with the best drum intro of all time. Evelyn used to play along to it with her cutlery and plate at every opportunity she got.
Speed limit: 30 km/h. The reflective circular sticker in the middle of the zero was illuminated by Beatrice’s torch, a tiny full moon in the darkness.
‘A night cache.’ Beatrice pointed the beam of light down the road. ‘It starts here. If I’m right, we need to find another reflector nearby …’
‘And then another and another.’ Florin turned slowly around on his own axis, holding his torch at head height. ‘There!’ He pointed towards a tree at the edge of the road, a good fifty metres away. Behind it, a pathway forked off.
‘We’re not waiting until tomorrow,’ said Beatrice as she saw Florin’s hesitation. ‘It’ll be dark for another four or five hours, so maybe we’ll be able to find Stage Five before sunrise.’
Without giving an answer, Florin went over to the marked tree. He nodded. ‘Call Stefan. If he’s awake, he should come join us. I’ll report back to base and say we’ll check in at hourly intervals.’
Stefan’s mobile went straight to the mailbox. ‘You’re missing something here,’ she said in her message. ‘Stage Five is a night cache. I’ll bet you’ve never done one of those before, have you?’
They parked the car in a clearly visible spot near the fork in the road, then set off. The path was narrow and zigzagged up the hill past cattle pastures and farms. Beatrice discovered the next reflector on the wall of a wooden barn. ‘The owner is marking all the turn-offs,’ she realised. ‘We have to go right here.’
They followed the trail of shining clues into isolation. The beams of light from their torches danced along the path, intermingling against a grey, brown and green background. They heard the muffled sound of a cowbell nearby. Beatrice couldn’t help picturing Nora Papenberg’s corpse again, on her stomach in the meadow, the cows alongside her. Was the tinny clang of a cowbell the last sound she had heard in her life?
The path plunged into the even deeper darkness of the forest. A reflective gleam from the knothole of a tree trunk confirmed that they were on the right path. Something scurried past them, disappearing with a rustling sound into the bushes to their left. Birds protested the disturbance at such an unusual hour.
The path wound its way steeply upwards, and Beatrice began to regret not bringing along anything to drink. The gentle sound of a nearby stream could be heard amidst the nocturnal rustle of the leaves, but to find it they would have to fight their way through the undergrowth.
After an hour, they stopped for a rest, and Florin called back to base to report that everything was under control. ‘I’ve only got two bars,’ he said with a frown after hanging up. ‘How’s your mobile reception?’
‘Not much better. There aren’t very many radio masts out here.’
Nor were there many houses or farms. Beatrice and Florin had passed the last one about twenty minutes before, and since then they hadn’t seen any signs of human dwellings. But at least the path was in good condition, albeit not tarmacked, as it had been at the start of their climb.
Before long, they found themselves searching around another fork in the path, and for a few moments Beatrice felt as though she was deep underwater, too deep to ever get back to the surface. They shone their torches into the forest, but the beams only penetrated the first row of trees; behind it, the world was absorbed by darkness. Above them, rustling sounds and the gentle sway of the treetops in the night-time breeze. Beatrice was freezing beneath her light jacket. Where was the next damned reflector? To the right, she hoped, for the path there seemed fairly even. But of course they soon realised they had to go left, where it looked much steeper. She was the one to spot the small shining disc, impaled on a thorny bush.
They spoke only when necessary now, battling their way further into the solitude. Something around them had changed in the course of the last few minutes: the forest had taken on a new form of darkness. It wasn’t so dense any more. It was bleaker, sparser. Beatrice pointed her torch at the trees. Stunted, dark trunks, interspersed with young spruces and their vibrant green. Then, the blackness again.
It reminded her of something. Some painful research she had undertaken.
He’s mocking his victims. He’s mocking us. He wants us to find Sigart’s severed fingers and some witty message about how strange life can be.
Without realising, she had quickened her pace. Her breath came out in gasps and her heart was racing, but she didn’t stop. Florin caught up with her. She felt his questioning look and shook her head. First they had to get there. First, certainty.
They almost missed the n
ext reflector. They had just emerged from the forest and it was there, right in front of them, fastened to a flat stone at the edge of the path.
Beatrice was convinced the cache must be hidden beneath it, but she was wrong. The only things they found as they lifted it up were a worm and two beetles, who fled in panic from the beam of light. A loud, snapping sound, like the lashing of a branch against wood, announced that they had probably startled even more wildlife.
‘I think the path must go down there.’
‘Here? But there’s nothing.’ The terrain sank down before them, densely overgrown with bushes and hip-high brambles. ‘We’d need a machete to get through there.’
‘Then we’ll have to manage without.’ Florin looked at his watch and pulled his mobile out from his trouser pocket. ‘Hi, Chris.’ He spoke in hushed tones. ‘We’re okay, we’re leaving the path now and heading off into the thicket. In an hour … Hello? Can you hear me? Okay, yes, I’ll call again in an hour.’
Florin took a tentative step forward into the undergrowth. ‘Come on, Bea, we can go through here.’ He stepped down a little and took her hand. ‘There must have been a path here once.’
A step. Another. A third. They made their way slowly, unbearably slowly, down an overgrown slope, until Beatrice got her foot caught in a tree root. She dropped the torch and grasped around for something to hold onto, feeling a searing pain shoot from her right palm to her elbow as she finally found her grip.
At first she thought it was barbed wire, but it was only stinging nettles. Florin pulled her up, and that was when she saw it.
A shining number five. She pointed towards it in silence, then groped around on the ground for her torch. The number was fixed to a small wooden shed, and seemed to be swinging back and forth.
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