schoolgirls. After that, Nora’s chair was empty. A few clicks later, Beatrice found a photo in which Nora could be seen in the background, recognisable by her red jacket.
She enlarged the photo. The resolution was very good. The closer Beatrice zoomed in, the clearer the view of Nora Papenberg’s face became – her eyes wide open. She was covering her nose and mouth with her left hand, as if she was shocked or about to throw up. In her other hand, she was holding the mobile to her ear.
The call had come from a telephone box, they knew that now, and it had definitely unleashed a reaction. She clicked through the remaining pictures. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on Nora’s face, not in any of them.
Had she left to drive to the phone box? To meet the caller? Was he her murderer? Or the man whose blood was found on her clothes?
‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ Beatrice asked a distant-looking Nora in the photos that followed. She was pictured with her gaze averted, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, an outsider amidst the laughing group.
According to the records, she hadn’t contacted anyone after the ominous call, at least not from her mobile. Not even a brief message to her husband, letting him know she would be late.
Was it a rendezvous he wasn’t supposed to have known about? Or had she actually left in order to get home as quickly as she could, to reach her safe haven? Had she been intercepted en route?
Beatrice had eaten all of her sushi without having tasted any of it. She went to throw the packaging into the kitchen bin and was just letting the lid drop back down when she heard her mobile. ‘Message in a Bottle’. A text message.
Her pulse quickened. Stay calm. It might just be Florin; he texted from time to time.
She wiped her hands on her jogging bottoms and went back out to the balcony. It could just as easily be her mother.
But a tap of the mobile’s keypad was enough to clarify things. The sender’s number was the same as the one that lunchtime. Feeling as though something was tightening around her neck, Beatrice sank down onto the balcony chair.
Cold, completely cold.
The message consisted only of these three words, without any explanation or further comment.
Beatrice remembered the photo of Nora Papenberg holding her mobile pressed to her ear, hand in front of her mouth. He sent me the text message from this very phone. A Nokia N8, a present from her husband .
Suddenly, Beatrice felt as though she was being watched. She jumped up and went over to the main door of the apartment, checking to see if it was definitely locked properly. Pulled the curtains shut. Ran back to the balcony and peered down into the courtyard, but no one returned her gaze.
Cold, completely cold . The first association that had shot into Beatrice’s mind was the coldness of a corpse’s skin, but the longer she turned the words over in her thoughts, the surer she became that the sender of the message hadn’t meant that.
She thought back to Jakob’s last birthday party, when she had revived all the party games from her own childhood, including a treasure hunt. Cold, completely cold, warmer now, even warmer, colder, good, warmer, warmer, hot!
Was the Owner trying to tell her that they were on the wrong track?
She resisted the temptation to delete the message, and called Achim instead. In a way, she was relieved that the children weren’t with her, but she had to hear their voices and make sure that—
‘You? What do you want?’ Achim’s words perforated her thoughts. There it was again, the utter contempt.
‘Hello. Put Mina or Jakob on the line, please.’
‘They’re busy.’
She wouldn’t beg. ‘Just for a moment.’
He sighed resignedly. ‘Fine, go ahead then. But it would be better if you could look after them properly while they’re with you instead and leave them in peace for the little time I have with them.’
She stared over at the corner of the balcony, at a red plant pot in which a
She enlarged the photo. The resolution was very good. The closer Beatrice zoomed in, the clearer the view of Nora Papenberg’s face became – her eyes wide open. She was covering her nose and mouth with her left hand, as if she was shocked or about to throw up. In her other hand, she was holding the mobile to her ear.
The call had come from a telephone box, they knew that now, and it had definitely unleashed a reaction. She clicked through the remaining pictures. There wasn’t even a hint of a smile on Nora’s face, not in any of them.
Had she left to drive to the phone box? To meet the caller? Was he her murderer? Or the man whose blood was found on her clothes?
‘Why didn’t you tell anyone?’ Beatrice asked a distant-looking Nora in the photos that followed. She was pictured with her gaze averted, her thoughts clearly elsewhere, an outsider amidst the laughing group.
According to the records, she hadn’t contacted anyone after the ominous call, at least not from her mobile. Not even a brief message to her husband, letting him know she would be late.
Was it a rendezvous he wasn’t supposed to have known about? Or had she actually left in order to get home as quickly as she could, to reach her safe haven? Had she been intercepted en route?
Beatrice had eaten all of her sushi without having tasted any of it. She went to throw the packaging into the kitchen bin and was just letting the lid drop back down when she heard her mobile. ‘Message in a Bottle’. A text message.
Her pulse quickened. Stay calm. It might just be Florin; he texted from time to time.
She wiped her hands on her jogging bottoms and went back out to the balcony. It could just as easily be her mother.
But a tap of the mobile’s keypad was enough to clarify things. The sender’s number was the same as the one that lunchtime. Feeling as though something was tightening around her neck, Beatrice sank down onto the balcony chair.
Cold, completely cold.
The message consisted only of these three words, without any explanation or further comment.
Beatrice remembered the photo of Nora Papenberg holding her mobile pressed to her ear, hand in front of her mouth. He sent me the text message from this very phone. A Nokia N8, a present from her husband .
Suddenly, Beatrice felt as though she was being watched. She jumped up and went over to the main door of the apartment, checking to see if it was definitely locked properly. Pulled the curtains shut. Ran back to the balcony and peered down into the courtyard, but no one returned her gaze.
Cold, completely cold . The first association that had shot into Beatrice’s mind was the coldness of a corpse’s skin, but the longer she turned the words over in her thoughts, the surer she became that the sender of the message hadn’t meant that.
She thought back to Jakob’s last birthday party, when she had revived all the party games from her own childhood, including a treasure hunt. Cold, completely cold, warmer now, even warmer, colder, good, warmer, warmer, hot!
Was the Owner trying to tell her that they were on the wrong track?
She resisted the temptation to delete the message, and called Achim instead. In a way, she was relieved that the children weren’t with her, but she had to hear their voices and make sure that—
‘You? What do you want?’ Achim’s words perforated her thoughts. There it was again, the utter contempt.
‘Hello. Put Mina or Jakob on the line, please.’
‘They’re busy.’
She wouldn’t beg. ‘Just for a moment.’
He sighed resignedly. ‘Fine, go ahead then. But it would be better if you could look after them properly while they’re with you instead and leave them in peace for the little time I have with them.’
She stared over at the corner of the balcony, at a red plant pot in which a
Similar Books
