Five

by Ursula P Archer

  Sigart stepped to the side, withdrawing the gun from her head. ‘Tell me when you can grip things properly again,’ he said, ‘because you’ll be responsible for the torch.’

  ‘Okay.’ Beatrice bent and stretched her fingers, sensation gradually returning amidst stabbing pain. She massaged one hand with the other and avoided looking at her raw, grazed wrists, concentrating instead on Sigart and his weapon. If I quickly duck away, push him over or pick up the table and throw it at him …

  It was too risky. She wouldn’t be able to take him by surprise. The concentration with which his gaze was fixed on her didn’t falter for even a second.

  Once her fingers felt as though they almost belonged to her body again, Beatrice nodded at Sigart. ‘I’m okay now.’

  ‘Good. If you turn around, you’ll see a woollen blanket in the corner, and a torch on top of it. Take the torch and go up the steps ahead of me.’

  It was an LED torch with black aluminium casing. It wasn’t heavy and hardly qualified as a weapon. But what if I blind him with the light?

  They were just wild thoughts. She wouldn’t do anything unless she could be sure she would succeed in incapacitating him.

  Holding the torch in one hand, she used the other to open the hatch door. Cool night air rushed towards her.

  Turn the light off and run. But she dismissed that thought immediately, too. She wouldn’t have a chance on this terrain in the darkness; she wouldn’t be able to orientate herself, while Sigart knew every tree and every stone.

  ‘It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?’ she heard him say behind her. ‘So much open space all around, and yet it’s still a prison.’

  She knew he didn’t just mean for her. ‘What happens now?’ she asked. The beam of the torch moved across tree trunks and bushes, searching for the path from which help would come. If it came.

  ‘Now let’s fill in the gaps in your knowledge. Do you remember where you found the cache? The tin with the shining five on it?’

  ‘Yes.’ She pointed the torch at the wooden shed. Unlike last time, today it was open. Inside it lay something low, something stony.

  ‘The cache was originally hidden there. In the well, you see? The tin had wire wrapped around it and had been lowered almost two metres deep into the well. That’s why it wasn’t destroyed by the fire.’ Sigart came over to stand next to Beatrice, but not near enough for her to be able to surprise and overpower him. ‘On the twelfth of July, Nora Papenberg, Herbert Liebscher, Christoph Beil, Melanie Dalamasso and Rudolf Estermann were here shortly before six in the evening. It was a hot day, and the weeks leading up to it had been very warm. All five of them were tired, but in good spirits and intent on finding the cache. Nora showed them all the nooks and crannies and trees they had already searched in vain, including the shed surrounding the well, which was the first thing to catch the eye. But only now, together, did they find the cache hidden down it on the wire. They all laughed, happy to have finally found it. Dalamasso took out some snacks and shared apples and pretzels with the others. We’re on safe ground so far, for all their stories are unanimous up to this point. Now, shine the torch a little further to the left.’

  She did what he said, but there was nothing there except dense shrubbery, raspberry bushes, twines and the stinging nettles she had already made her acquaintance with.

  ‘From now on their accounts differ a little, but the main point is that someone had a full hip flask with them. Beil said it was Estermann, while Estermann said it was Beil. The only thing they agreed on was the contents: pear schnapps. They sat right where you’re pointing the torch, Beatrice. Except back then there was a meadow, with bluebells, marguerites and wild dianthus. Then Lukas came running out of the forest.’

  ‘Your son.’

  ‘Yes. Beil said he had a bow and arrow with him, and that he was covered in dirt. They chatted with him for a bit, apparently. He told them he was on holiday here, that his parents had just argued and that’s why he wanted to go hunting in the forest instead. Then Estermann offered him a sip from his hip flask.’

  Sigart’s voice had become quieter now, then he cleared his throat and continued in a normal tone. ‘Estermann said it was Beil, of course. The others may not have noticed, because they were sitting some distance away, although Papenberg said she remembered the conversation between Lukas and the two men getting a little loud. In the end, he drank some and then ran back to the cabin.’

  Beatrice pictured Jakob in Lukas’s place, then hastily shook away the image.

  ‘Miriam, my wife – she was a wonderful woman. But when she got angry she was so unpredictable. I had already annoyed her a lot that day, and then Lukas came in the door and told her some man had just given him alcohol … so you can imagine how she reacted. Papenberg described what happened next very precisely: she said Miriam came storming out of the cabin, shouted at Estermann, grabbed the flask from his hand and emptied the contents onto the grass.’

  Had Sigart’s attention waned? He seemed to be lost in his thoughts, in the images that his story was summoning up, but at the same time he reacted immediately to every one of Beatrice’s movements, and still had the gun pointed at her. She decided to wait.

  ‘Estermann didn’t take Miriam’s outburst very well. He screamed back at her, saying that she’d stolen his property and would have to replace it. Fifty euros and they could call it quits. Miriam said the only thing he would get from her was a report to the police for bodily harm, for giving alcohol to a child.’

  All Beatrice could see in the beam of the torchlight were the thin, swaying branches of a young spruce, but the scene was almost tangible. He isn’t a nice man, Graciella Estermann had said.

  ‘Threatening him with the police was Miriam’s big mistake,’ Sigart continued. ‘She went back into the cabin and he jumped up and followed her. The others may have tried to placate him. Beil and Liebscher both told me they tried to hold him back, but apparently Estermann just shoved them aside. He ripped the door open, turned the cabin upside down, and only came out once he had found Miriam’s mobile. “You’re not reporting anyone,” he said, smashing the phone up with a rock. That was something else that everyone remembered very clearly.’

  Almost without realising, and without prompting any protest from Sigart, Beatrice had turned around, pointing the torch at the place where the cabin used to be.

  ‘By now the children were crying, all three of them. While Christoph Beil, the only one who knew Estermann a little, tried to calm him down, Melanie Dalamasso spoke to Hanna and Lukas, trying to sing them a song, but she was shaking all over. Miriam was busy with Oskar, who was screaming his head off. Liebscher and Papenberg kept their distance – could you please shine the light to the left? A little more? That’s it, thank you. Round about there.’

  On the spot indicated by Sigart, a raspberry bush and mulberry bush were fighting for supremacy.

  ‘Papenberg just wanted to get away. She thought the “arsehole in the checked shirt”, as she called Estermann, was repulsive and the situation made her feel sick. Liebscher agreed with her, but said they should make sure the woman from the cabin wouldn’t report them. He was a teacher, and his principal didn’t take any nonsense when it came to disciplinary actions. He hit a sore spot with Nora by saying that, because she had just started her job at the ad agency and there was no way she wanted to risk being involved in something unpleasant. They decided that as soon as Estermann left, they would talk to Miriam and try to find a way to compensate her for the damaged mobile phone.’

  A good idea, thought Beatrice. So what went so terribly wrong?

  ‘Estermann cursed and grumbled for a little while longer, trying to provoke Miriam, ruffling his feathers – but he was close to letting it go and leaving. “She can’t report you,” Beil kept saying to him. “She doesn’t know your name.” In one of our long conversations, he said that Miriam must have heard him. She came out of the house, pale with rage, and ran up the hill saying that she was going to fetch help from the n
eighbours.’

  Sigart’s voice started to falter. Suddenly he looked smaller, hunched, as if he had sunk into himself. The gun was still aimed at Beatrice; he was supporting it in the crook of his left elbow, where it lay peacefully. Just one shot would be sure to reach its target.

  But still. This is the first viable opportunity.

  She took a breath, tensing her muscles, but Sigart’s attention snapped back to her, almost palpably. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’re not finished yet.’

  ‘Of course. I know that.’

  ‘At the beginning, when I only had Liebscher with me and he told me how Miriam had stormed off, I wondered whether he had made it up, or at least exaggerated things. To reduce his own responsibility. But later all of them described it the same way, every one of them. I always knew it was true deep down. Miriam was like that. Always so impulsive, with no consideration for what the consequences might be. If she had calmed down and waited until they were all gone, or if she had at least not told them what she was planning to do—’

  If.

  If I hadn’t driven to Sigart’s alone.

  If the children weren’t with my mother, if …

  She hated this game. ‘Did Estermann stop her?’

  A cold look swept momentarily across Sigart’s features. ‘No. He grabbed Oskar and put a thumb against his eye. He said he would push it in if Miriam didn’t come back to the cabin. The others said they pleaded with him to stop. Apparently Melanie Dalamasso started to cry, loudly – too loudly for Estermann’s taste, and he ordered her to shut her mouth, saying that she could start sewing an eye patch for the little one if she didn’t.’

  An eye for an eye. Pushed in or corroded away. Beatrice’s stomach cramped up. Estermann had children himself, how could he be capable of something like that? ‘So did Miriam come back?’

  ‘Of course. Estermann locked all four of them in the cabin and pulled down the window shutters. Wooden shutters, painted green and white. You could pull them down from the inside, but they were secured on the outside. He sealed the whole place tight, then sat down next to the well. Beil said it was the first time he looked truly content.’

  She had only seen Estermann as a corpse, that horrifically disfigured body, but now she had to actively fight against the hate welling up inside her. No, don’t let yourself be manipulated. Even though he was the one who locked them in, Estermann is still a victim along with the other three.

  ‘By that point, it was all too much for Papenberg. She said she was leaving, and ran off right away without paying any attention to Liebscher, who she had come with and who wasn’t as swift to react. Melanie called after her to contact the police as quickly as she could. According to Beil she was clamping her hands against her ears to block out the sound of the hammering on the wall and the children’s cries. But as soon as anyone took a step towards the cabin, Estermann positioned himself in between. “They can come out once the old bitch has learnt her lesson,” he said. And he reminded Beil that it was in his interest too to put this unpleasant event behind him without any outside interference. “Or do you think your wife will be pleased when she finds out you’ve found yourself a younger woman?” Beil told me he hadn’t thought of that. He was suddenly in just as much of a hurry to get away as Nora had been.’ Sigart looked over at the narrow path that ran above them, the path Beatrice kept glancing at in the hope that the blue light of the squad cars would make itself seen through the trees.

  ‘Nora had shouted out a few words of reassurance to them as she ran off, saying she would get help, and not to worry, that she would hurry. Beil took the same line, but Melanie thwarted his plans. She wanted to stay until the children were safely out of the house. And then Liebscher joined in. He had stood on the sidelines the whole time, Nora said later, as if he was in denial about what was happening. When he rejoined the others, he was clearly nervous. He tried to convince Estermann to open up the cabin, saying that there must be some sensible way of resolving the argument. In response, Estermann took the key from his trouser pocket, pulled the cache out of the well and put the key in it. Then he lowered the tin back down almost two metres.’

  ‘But they could have brought it back up, couldn’t they? If it was on a wire?’

  ‘Yes. I think Melanie would have done that if there had been enough time.’

  Another ‘if’. She couldn’t bear to hear any more.

  ‘Liebscher was still talking to Estermann, using all his usual teacher’s tricks, but he was just running up against a brick wall. While he was talking, he lit a cigarette. He told me later at least a hundred times how much he regretted that afterwards. He was concentrating only on Estermann, he said. Beil, on the other hand, realised at once how dry the forest and surrounding area were. He tore the cigarette from Liebscher’s hand and threw it on the ground to stamp it out.’

  Beatrice guessed what had happened. ‘On the spot where Miriam had emptied out the schnapps?’

  ‘According to what they all said, yes. When I held the glass of acid to his lips, Estermann cried out that he was completely innocent. After all, Liebscher was the one who had lit the cigarette, and Beil had caused the fire. Until the very end, he was convinced I was doing him an injustice.’

  Because he hadn’t meant for that to happen, at least. Beatrice felt sick, from Sigart’s story, from her own fear, and from the images of charred and corroded corpses she was picturing in her mind. ‘My colleagues’ reports made no mention of fire accelerants. But alcohol is one.’

  Sigart shrugged. ‘And that surprises you? It must be obvious to you by now that the police weren’t exactly thorough in their investigations.’

  Something threatening flashed up between his words, something that applied directly to Beatrice. ‘So did none of them try to put out the fire?’ she asked hastily, trying to change the subject.

  ‘The well wasn’t in use any more. There wasn’t a bucket they could have drawn up. They tried to put out the flames with their jackets, but that just wasted valuable time. It must have got very hot very quickly, and the flames were so close to the well that no one dared to go after the key. Apparently Melanie tried, but Beil pulled her away with him.’

  The torchlight was now dancing over the wooden shed surrounding the well again, which someone must have rebuilt after the fire. Presumably Sigart himself. She looked into his face; it was wet with sweat and tears, but showed relief at the same time.

  ‘Why didn’t you content yourself with just killing Estermann?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ He waited, only continuing when she shook her head. ‘After all, you read the file. The call to the emergency services was made by one of the two farmers whose farms burnt down that night. Before and after that – nothing.’

  For a moment, it seemed as though Sigart was about to break down; he lost control of his facial muscles, but then gathered his composure again after a shaky breath. ‘They knew who had been trapped up there amidst the flames. But not a single one of the group reported the fire. Not even anonymously. Not a single one.’

  There was nothing that could be said in response to that. Silently, she wondered what would have happened if Nora had informed the police as she had promised, if Liebscher had been less worried about his job, if Beil had been less worried about his marriage. If …

  ‘But Melanie,’ she said. ‘Why did she keep quiet? Was she so sure that Nora would get help? I mean, Nora didn’t even know about the fire.’

  She thought back to the moment when she had let the photos fall, remembering Melanie’s horror.

  ‘She struggled out of Beil’s grip again because she couldn’t bear the screams from the cabin. She wanted to go back and warn the neighbours, but Beil and Estermann wouldn’t let her. That’s how Liebscher told it. Melanie was screaming like crazy, he said, and Estermann slapped her; then Beil was trying to persuade her to leave and practically carried her down the hill.’ With his bandaged hand, Sigart stroked the barrel of the gun. ‘I don’t know exactly what they did with her then. Pres
umably Beil told her they could never see each other again if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. And Estermann’s threats would have been a lot less subtle than that. But those are only my presumptions.’

  Melanie, torn between her love for Beil and her con science. It was entirely possible that Estermann had turned up at that rehearsal for the Mozarteum summer concert, thought Beatrice.

  ‘Why did you cut Liebscher up into pieces?’ she whispered. ‘Surely not just because it was his cigarette?’

  A brief laugh. ‘No. But you see – the others at least felt guilty enough to feel incapable of going caching any more. Or let’s call it a fear of being discovered. Either way, none of the others were still active when I compared the entries from the logbook with the profiles on the website. But Liebscher was. So because those cursed little containers were clearly so important to him, I thought it was only logical that he ended up in them.’

  The arm with which Beatrice was holding the torch was slowly going numb. ‘And what about the parts that didn’t fit in the caches? Legs, arms, torso?’

  Sigart’s lips were parted by something which was almost a smile. ‘Burnt,’ he murmured.

  Of course. Every one of Sigart’s actions told the story they were rooted in; not a single decision had been made at random.

  The torch in Beatrice’s hand trembled, painting loops of light in the forest. If he was finished telling his story, then it was now time for what he had referred to as ‘the end’. Straining her ears, she listened into the night. No engine sounds, no sirens. It seemed that the text message Sigart had sent from her phone hadn’t aroused Florin’s suspicions.

  She cleared her throat, trying to sound confident. ‘I think I can just about follow the steps you took. But I don’t fit into the pattern. I wasn’t there that day, I had nothing to do with the case.’ Let me go were the unspoken words hanging in the air.

  His silence gave her hope, but at the same time haunted her with fear. Was he contemplating sparing her? Before, in the cellar, he had told her she had a small chance of surviving. At least that means he’s not going to shoot me point blank in the head. Beatrice tried to drag her gaze away from the gun and look at Sigart instead.