‘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.
‘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?
No, don’t think just yet. Just register first impressions. A woman’s handwriting. She herself wrote very similarly – more evenly and a little less elaborately, but with a comparable flourish. She turned around to face Florin.