yet another weekend without any time off.
One steak sandwich later, Beatrice ran into Stefan on her way back to her office. He was eagerly waving a sheet of paper at her.
‘I’ve got a few addresses for you, and also the rehearsal times for four of the choirs. Interested?’
‘You bet. Thanks!’ She quickly scanned through the information. One of the choirs was rehearsing tonight at seven in the Mozarteum. She could just make it if she picked the kids up first, cooked them dinner and then asked Katrin to watch them for an hour. The neighbour’s daughter’s piggy bank must be almost bursting by now.
‘Perfect.’ Florin nodded as she explained her plan to him. ‘I’ll pick you up at a quarter to seven.’
By seven, after laminating schoolbooks, putting a load of washing on, cooking carbonara and taking a quick shower, Beatrice was sitting in the passenger seat next to Florin, hoping she didn’t still smell of garlic.
‘Christoph Gorbach and Christoph Meyer. Blue eyes and a birthmark. It shouldn’t take long.’
‘No,’ replied Florin gruffly.
Beatrice resisted the impulse to give him a friendly nudge – after all, he was concentrating on the road. ‘You’re annoyed because of this weekend, right? Have you already told Anneke about the new case?’
Florin shrugged. ‘I’m wondering whether I should cancel. I mean, there’s no point her coming all this way if I have to work.’ He turned off into Paris-Lodron-Strasse.
‘Why cancel just yet? We’ll bring Stefan onto the team – he’s really fired up by the case and practically working on it already anyway.’ She looked at Florin’s profile. ‘He and I will make sure that we find the right Christoph, then …’
Florin braked abruptly and manoeuvred into a space that had just become free at the side of the road. ‘Have you considered the possibility,’ he said, his gaze fixed on the rear-view mirror, ‘that this whole puzzle nonsense could just be a red herring? The sick little mind games of a killer who wants to throw us off his scent by sending us on this ridiculous birthmark hunt?’
The idea had indeed occurred to Beatrice, earlier that evening when she was in the shower. They certainly couldn’t rule out the possibility that they were allowing themselves to be led down the garden path, giving the killer enough time to erase his or her tracks.
‘We’ll see. If it turns out there’s no man who meets the Owner’s description, then all we’ll have lost is a little time.’
‘Yes, but we’ll have lost it to him,’ Florin objected.
The plastic container pushed its way back into Beatrice’s mind. The dead hand.
‘We don’t have any other choice but to play the game, Florin. I don’t like it any more than you do.’
They parked up and got out. Florin took her arm as they crossed the road, making their way towards the steel-and-glass cube that housed the Salzburg Mozarteum. ‘The thing that makes me most angry,’ he said, ‘is the feeling that he’s really enjoying all of this.’
‘Pia mater, fons amoris’
Male voices singing in unison. A slow descent into inconsolable grief.
Beatrice paused in front of the door to the rehearsal room and lifted her hand to turn the door handle. But she couldn’t bring herself to push it down. From all the songs they could have been rehearsing, it would have to be this piece.
‘Pia mater, fons amoris
Me sentire vim doloris’
The female voices had tuned in now, soaring and full of hope.
‘Fac, ut tecum lugeam .
Fac, ut ardeat cor meum
In amando Christum Deum,
ut sibi complaceam.’
Beatrice hadn’t heard it since that day, but every note was familiar to her, every detail burnt into her memory. The smell of incense and flowers and grief, but above all the bitter metallic taste on her tongue that had stayed with her for months on end. Guilt was something that had to be suffered slowly.
‘Beautiful,’ whispered Florin at her side. ‘I don’t know what it is though …
One steak sandwich later, Beatrice ran into Stefan on her way back to her office. He was eagerly waving a sheet of paper at her.
‘I’ve got a few addresses for you, and also the rehearsal times for four of the choirs. Interested?’
‘You bet. Thanks!’ She quickly scanned through the information. One of the choirs was rehearsing tonight at seven in the Mozarteum. She could just make it if she picked the kids up first, cooked them dinner and then asked Katrin to watch them for an hour. The neighbour’s daughter’s piggy bank must be almost bursting by now.
‘Perfect.’ Florin nodded as she explained her plan to him. ‘I’ll pick you up at a quarter to seven.’
By seven, after laminating schoolbooks, putting a load of washing on, cooking carbonara and taking a quick shower, Beatrice was sitting in the passenger seat next to Florin, hoping she didn’t still smell of garlic.
‘Christoph Gorbach and Christoph Meyer. Blue eyes and a birthmark. It shouldn’t take long.’
‘No,’ replied Florin gruffly.
Beatrice resisted the impulse to give him a friendly nudge – after all, he was concentrating on the road. ‘You’re annoyed because of this weekend, right? Have you already told Anneke about the new case?’
Florin shrugged. ‘I’m wondering whether I should cancel. I mean, there’s no point her coming all this way if I have to work.’ He turned off into Paris-Lodron-Strasse.
‘Why cancel just yet? We’ll bring Stefan onto the team – he’s really fired up by the case and practically working on it already anyway.’ She looked at Florin’s profile. ‘He and I will make sure that we find the right Christoph, then …’
Florin braked abruptly and manoeuvred into a space that had just become free at the side of the road. ‘Have you considered the possibility,’ he said, his gaze fixed on the rear-view mirror, ‘that this whole puzzle nonsense could just be a red herring? The sick little mind games of a killer who wants to throw us off his scent by sending us on this ridiculous birthmark hunt?’
The idea had indeed occurred to Beatrice, earlier that evening when she was in the shower. They certainly couldn’t rule out the possibility that they were allowing themselves to be led down the garden path, giving the killer enough time to erase his or her tracks.
‘We’ll see. If it turns out there’s no man who meets the Owner’s description, then all we’ll have lost is a little time.’
‘Yes, but we’ll have lost it to him,’ Florin objected.
The plastic container pushed its way back into Beatrice’s mind. The dead hand.
‘We don’t have any other choice but to play the game, Florin. I don’t like it any more than you do.’
They parked up and got out. Florin took her arm as they crossed the road, making their way towards the steel-and-glass cube that housed the Salzburg Mozarteum. ‘The thing that makes me most angry,’ he said, ‘is the feeling that he’s really enjoying all of this.’
‘Pia mater, fons amoris’
Male voices singing in unison. A slow descent into inconsolable grief.
Beatrice paused in front of the door to the rehearsal room and lifted her hand to turn the door handle. But she couldn’t bring herself to push it down. From all the songs they could have been rehearsing, it would have to be this piece.
‘Pia mater, fons amoris
Me sentire vim doloris’
The female voices had tuned in now, soaring and full of hope.
‘Fac, ut tecum lugeam .
Fac, ut ardeat cor meum
In amando Christum Deum,
ut sibi complaceam.’
Beatrice hadn’t heard it since that day, but every note was familiar to her, every detail burnt into her memory. The smell of incense and flowers and grief, but above all the bitter metallic taste on her tongue that had stayed with her for months on end. Guilt was something that had to be suffered slowly.
‘Beautiful,’ whispered Florin at her side. ‘I don’t know what it is though …
Similar Books
