‘Of course. Just let me know if that turns out to be necessary.’
‘He’s not an easy child, you know.’ The teacher at the other end of the line sighed. ‘Please speak to him again. It’s high time he learnt that rules apply to everyone, including him!’
‘Of course. Out of interest, did he say why he did it?’
The teacher snorted. ‘Yes, he said that water is too thin and he wanted the flowers to have a proper drink.’
Oh, Jakob, my sweet little Jakob.
‘I see. Well, then at least he didn’t mean any harm.’
‘I guess. But he’s seven, for heaven’s sake. At some point he simply has to learn to do what he’s told.’
Beatrice suppressed the desire to shout down the phone at the woman.
‘I understand. I’ll speak to him.’
‘Thank you. Let’s hope it does some good.’ The teacher hung up. Feeling overwhelmed with hopelessness, Beatrice tucked her phone back in her bag.
At Florin’s insistence, they stopped off at Ginzkey’s instead of driving straight back to the office. ‘Vegetable curry helps to restore inner balance,’ he informed her, ordering two portions. By now, Beatrice was starting to feel as if her stomach had been sewn shut. It was only once the aromatic plate of food was put down in front of her, and she had shovelled in the first mouthful, that her appetite finally kicked back in. She devoured the entire curry, then ordered some cake and hot chocolate.
‘Sugar therapy,’ she explained. ‘It generates temporary feelings of happiness. By the time I feel sick I’ll have forgotten about everything else.’ She was relieved to see Florin grinning.
‘Will it spoil your appetite if we talk about the case?’ he asked.
‘Not in the slightest. Once we get back to the office we can go through the missing persons reports. Our investigations are just a stab in the dark until we know who the woman was.’
‘Well, that’s not strictly true. Thanks to your discovery.’
‘Do you really think the coordinates are connected to her death? The tattoos could be old. We should wait for the pathologist’s report first.’
‘Definitely.’ He drank his espresso down in one gulp. ‘But I’m still going to put the numbers into my GPS all the same. You never know, we might find something useful.’
Outside, the skies were clouding over. They hurried back to the office, where they were greeted by a message from Hoffmann asking to be updated on the new case. While Florin went off to look for their boss, Beatrice turned her computer on and loaded the page with the missing persons announcements.
A fifty-five-year-old woman with short grey hair who had gone missing from the local psychiatric unit. No. An unemployed twenty-two-year-old who had made suicide threats. Another no.
The third entry unleashed that subtle but familiar tug inside her, like a divining rod quivering and latching onto its target.
Thirty-nine-year-old female, blonde, green eyes, 170 centimetres, slim. A dark brown birthmark above the right-hand corner of her mouth. Special features: none. So no tattoos then.
Name: Nora Papenberg
Place of residence: Salzburg, Nesselthaler Strasse.
The woman had been reported missing four days ago by her husband. Beatrice only turned her attention to the photograph after reading the statement through in full. It was a snapshot, and not really suitable as a missing persons photo, because the Nora Papenberg in the picture had been captured whilst laughing gleefully. Her eyes were half shut, and she was holding a champagne glass in her right hand.
Mouth open, eyes shut. Exactly the same as in the meadow, and yet so completely different.
Beatrice made a mental note of the corresponding features: the rounded chin, the snub nose and the birthmark at the corner of the mouth. Their corpse had a name.
She told Florin as soon as he came back from talking to Hoffmann. ‘Nora Papenberg. I’ve already googled her. She was a copywriter in a small ad agency. There are some photos of her online, so we can be pretty certain it’s her.’ She passed a pile of printouts over to Florin’s side of the desk.
‘Right, let’s get cracking then.’ The vigour in his voice sounded false, and Beatrice knew why. Now came the hardest part of the job: informing the next of kin. Disbelief, tears, devastation. That’s not possible, it’s not my husband, my wife, my child. There must be some mistake. There has to be.
They got stuck in traffic even before they reached the Karolinen bridge. Stealing a glance at her watch, Beatrice realised she would never make it on time now. She pulled her phone from her bag and quickly dialled a number.
‘Mama?’
‘Bea! It’s so lovely to hear from you. Are you already done for the day?’
‘No, unfortunately that’s why I’m calling. We’ve got a new murder case, and…’
Her mother’s sigh echoed down the line. ‘And you want me to pick the children up from the childminder?’
‘Yes. Please. I’ll be as quick as I can, and you won’t need to cook anything, I’ll see to it when I get back.’
‘Frozen pizza, I know.’
Beatrice closed her eyes. As if her guilty conscience needed any more ammunition.
‘No. In actual fact I was planning to make a broccoli bake. That’s quick too.’
If broccoli bake didn’t win her mother around then nothing would.
‘Fine then. I’ll pick them up, but it would be nice if you could give me more notice next time. I do have other things to do, you know.’
‘Yes. I know. Thank you.’
They turned off into Aigner Strasse, where the traffic finally eased up. ‘You don’t have to tell him.’ Florin stared fixedly at the Audi in front of them. ‘I’ll handle that, okay? You just make notes. Unless I overlook something important, then speak up.’
She could have hugged him. He was voluntarily drawing the losing card. The way she sometimes did with the children, just for the pleasure of seeing them hop around giggling, overjoyed to have beaten her.
Did Nora Papenberg have children? As Florin parked the car opposite the house, Beatrice scanned the garden for telltale signs. No sandpit, no children’s bikes, no trampoline. Just one of those Japanese Zen gardens with patterns raked in the sand.
‘We’re too early. He won’t even be home yet,’ said Florin as he turned the engine off.
They got out and rang the bell anyway. Almost immediately, the door was opened by a man wearing jeans and a checked jacket over a dark green polo shirt.
‘Are you Konrad Papenberg?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’re from the police.’
Beatrice saw the man flinch, saw how he searched their faces in vain for the trace of a smile, for a sign of the all-clear. Then she saw the realisation dawn.
‘My wife?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid we have bad news, Herr Papenberg.’
‘Come in, please.’ He held the door open for them, turning his ashen face to the side. Most people looked away at that moment, when nothing of finality had yet been said. It was about maintaining that state for as long as possible, drawing out these last seconds of merciful ignorance. He gestured for them to sit down on the sofa, then jumped up again and brought them water from the kitchen, unbidden. The glasses shook so violently in his hands that he spilt half of their contents.
Florin waited until he had sat down and was looking at them. ‘We have every reason to believe that we’ve found your wife. She was discovered this morning in a field near Abtenau.’
‘What do you mean, every reason to believe?’ His voice was surprisingly steady.