N47° 46.605 E013° 21.718 The early morning mist enveloped her like a damp shroud. The dead woman was lying on her stomach, the grass beneath her soaked with dew and blood. The cows were taking care not to graze there, which was easy enough; the meadow was large, and the thing lying there in the shadow of the rock face unsettled them. A brown cow had ventured over shortly after sunrise, lowering her heavy head and licking the flaxen strands of hair with her rough tongue. But finding her discovery to be unpalatable, she had soon returned to the rest of the herd. They kept their distance.
Most of them just lay there, chewing their cud and staring out at the river. But even the ones that were still grazing avoided straying too close. The scent of death made them uneasy. They much preferred to stay where the first beams of sunlight were pushing through the mist, etching bright patterns onto the meadow. The brown cow trotted across to drink from the trough. With every step, the clapper in her bell struck against the metal, producing a tinny sound. The rest of the herd didn't even swivel their ears. They just stared stoically at the water, their lower jaws grinding constantly, their tails lashing to swat away the first flies of the day.
A gentle gust of wind swept over the meadow, brushing the woman's hair aside and exposing her face. Her small, upturned nose. The birthmark next to the right-hand corner of her mouth. Her lips, now far too pale. Only her forehead remained covered, where her hair and skin were matted with blood. The morning mist slowly frayed out to form isolated veils. These eventually wafted away, clearing the view of the meadow, the cattle, and the unwanted gift which had been left there for them. The brown cow's muffled lowing greeted the new day.
* * * As always, Beatrice took the stairs two steps at a time. She skidded along the corridor, racing past the second door on the left. Just seven steps to go. Six. Reaching her office, she saw that no one was there but Florin. Thank God for that. "Has he been in yet?" she asked, slinging her rucksack onto the revolving chair and her folder onto the desk. "Good morning to you too!" How did Florin always manage to stay so upbeat? She hurled her jacket toward the coatrack, missed, and swore loudly.
"Sit yourself down and catch your breath, I'll get that." Florin stood up, picked her jacket up from the floor and hung it carefully on one of the hooks. "Thank you." She turned her computer on and hurriedly emptied the contents of the folder onto her desk. "I would have been on time, but Jakob's teacher caught me." Florin went over to the espresso machine and started pressing buttons. She saw him nod. "What was it this time?" "He had a temper tantrum, and the class mascot caught the brunt of it.
" "Oh. Was it a living thing, dare I ask?" "No. A stuffed owl called Elvira. But you wouldn't believe what a huge drama it caused. At least ten children in the class were in floods of tears. I offered to send a crisis intervention team across, but the teacher wasn't amused. Anyway, now I need to arrange a substitute Elvira before Friday." "That sounds like quite a challenge.
" He frothed the milk, pressed the button for double espresso, and then crowned his work with a little dusting of cocoa. Florin's calm demeanor was gradually starting to work its magic on Beatrice. As he put the steaming cup down in front of her, she realized she was smiling. He sat down at the opposite side of their desk and surveyed her thoughtfully. "You look as though you didn't get much sleep." You can say that again . "Everything's fine," she mumbled, staring intently at her coffee in the hope that Florin would be content with her brief response. "No nocturnal calls?" There certainly had been.
One at half past eleven, and another at three in the morning. The second had woken Mina, who hadn't gone back to sleep again for an hour afterward. Beatrice shrugged. "He'll give up eventually." "You have to change your number, Bea, it's been going on long enough. Don't keep giving him the opportunity to wear you down. You are the police, for heaven's sake! There are steps you can take." The coffee was perfect.
In the two years they had been working together, Florin had gradually perfected the ideal blend of coffee beans, milk, and sugar. Beatrice leaned back and closed her eyes for a few seconds, longing for just one moment of relaxation, however brief it might be. "If I change the number, he'll be on my doorstep before I can count to ten. And he is their father, after all, he has a right to contact his children." She heard Florin sigh. "By the way," he said, "Hoffman's already been in." Shit . "Really? So why isn't my monitor covered in Post-its?" "I appeased him by saying you'd phoned and were on an outside call.
He pulled a sour face, but didn't say a word. The good news is that we'll have some peace from him today because he's in meetings." That was fantastic news. Beatrice put her cup down, tried to relax her tensed shoulder muscles, and started to sort through the files on her desk. She would finally get a chance to work on her report about the stabbing; Hoffmann had been nagging her to do it for ages. She glanced over at Florin, who was staring intently at his monitor with an expression of utter confusion. A strand of his dark hair fell forward, almost into his eyes. Clickclickclick .
Beatrice's gaze was drawn to his hand as it clasped the mouse. Strong, masculine hands: her old vice. "Problem?" she asked. "Unsolvable." "Anything I can help with?" A thoughtful crease formed between his eyebrows. "I don't know. The selection of antipasti is a serious matter." She laughed.
"Ah, I see. So when does Anneke arrive?" "In three days' time. I think I'll make vitello tonnato. Or maybe bruschetta? Damn it, I wish I knew whether she's eating carbs at the moment." Discussing menu planning wasn't a good idea; Beatrice's stomach immediately made itself heard. Quickly thinking back over what she had eaten so far today-an inventory that amounted to two biscuits-she decided she was perfectly entitled to feel hungry. "I'd vote for vitello tonnato," she said, "and a quick trip downstairs to the café." "Already?" He caught her gaze and smiled.
"Okay then. I'll just print this out and then-" The telephone rang, interrupting him. Once he answered the call, it was only a few seconds before his dark expression told Beatrice to forget about the tuna fish baguette she had been dreaming of. "We'll be there right away." He hung up the phone and looked at her. "We've got a body, female, near Abtenau. It seems she fell from the rock face." "Oh shit.
Sounds like a climbing accident." Florin's eyebrows knitted together, forming a dark beam over his eyes. "Hardly. Not unless she was climbing with her hands tied." * * * The corpse, a bright stain against the green, was flanked by two uniformed policemen. A tall man, bare-chested under his dungarees, looked at them curiously. He stood in the adjacent field, holding a small herd of cows in check. He raised his hand, as if wanting to wave at Beatrice and Florin, but then lowered it again.
A rocky crag with an almost vertical twenty-meter drop towered over the meadow, jutting out in stark contrast to the idyllic landscape. The forensic investigators, Drasche and Ebner, clearly had arrived just a few minutes before them. They were already clad in their protective suits, busying themselves with their instruments, and only nodded briefly in greeting. A man was kneeling down right next to the pasture fence, filling out a form. He was using his doctor's case as a makeshift desk. "Good morning," he said, without even looking up. "You're from the criminal police office, I take it?" "Yes. I'm Florin Wenninger, and this is my colleague Beatrice Kaspary.
Is there anything you can already tell us about the deceased?" The doctor pushed the top back onto his pen with a sigh. "Not much. Female, around thirty-five to forty years old. My guess would be that someone pushed her off the rock face last night. Cause of death probably head trauma or aortic rupture, the neck wasn't broken in any case. You'll need to ask the coroner for more detailed information." "Time of death?" The doctor blew out his cheeks. "Between two and four in the morning, I'd say, but don't hold me to that.
All I'm supposed to do here is certify the death." Drasche trudged over, carrying his forensics kit. "Did anyone here touch the body?" One of the policemen spoke up hesitantly. "The doctor. And me. But just to feel for a pulse. I looked for ID or a wallet too, but couldn't find anything. We didn't alter her position.
" ".