Five (45 page)

‘Of course.’

The third iron rung. The fourth. Now her head was below the edge of the well. The smell of cellars and mould engulfed her. Half an arm’s length to the left, Beatrice discovered a stone protruding out of the wall which she would be able to grip onto. Good.

The next rung and the next. Then the last. Even though Sigart was still shining the torch, it had become difficult to make out the details of her surroundings. Her own shadow was darkening the shaft of the well.

‘You’ll have to jump from there.’ Sigart was now just a silhouette behind the beam of the torch.

She had known what was awaiting her, but it was completely different from how she had imagined it. Beneath her lay a dark, narrow abyss, which could just as easily be bottomless as two metres deep. She hesitated.

‘It’s only water. You won’t hurt yourself.’

He must have been a good vet once
, thought Beatrice vaguely.
He has the kind of voice that makes it easy to trust him
.

But she didn’t jump, instead grasping the last iron rung with both hands and lowering herself down carefully. Yes, there was water all right; her ankles were immersed in it.

‘You have to let go.’ Sigart’s voice echoed through the well shaft, followed by an unmistakable click. He had released the safety catch on the gun.

Beatrice loosened her grip and dropped. The icy water pressed the air from her lungs, completely enveloping her.

There! There was ground under her feet; she pushed against it, reached the surface again, gasped noisily for breath.

‘Take care, Beatrice.’ A drawn-out scraping sound from above. Sigart closed the lid of the well. No light any more, nothing. Just the sound of her own breathing and the gurgling of the water in absolute darkness

N47º 28.275 E013º 10.296

For a moment, Beatrice was tempted to weep, to mourn for everything she would never see again – the sun, the sky, her children’s faces. But crying took too much energy and clouded the mind.

‘Save that for later,’ she told herself. Her voice echoed dully against the well shaft, sounding comforting and sensible. That was exactly what she needed right now, all of her wits and senses.

The water was too deep to be able to stand up in. If she stretched and immersed herself up to her nose, she could just about feel the ground beneath her feet, but it was slimy and soft. She would have to try to swim on the spot, with sparing movements, which would keep her warm at the same time. Or at least ensure that her temperature dropped less quickly.

Underwater, she pulled the shoes and socks from her feet. Good. Now feel around the wall, systematically, the way a blind person would.

There were little protrusions here and there, but none of them big enough to grip onto. The walls were slippery with moss. Even when Beatrice managed to find a stone that was sticking a little further out than the others, her fingers slipped when she tried to pull herself up on it.

But she didn’t give up. The well’s diameter wasn’t that big; if she stretched both arms out to the side, the palms of her hands easily reached the opposite sides of the shaft.

She would be able to lie down diagonally and support herself with her back and feet if she needed to rest. And she
would
need to. Soon. If she didn’t manage to climb up—

All of a sudden, she realised she no longer knew which part of the cylindrical well shaft the iron rungs were on. She had turned around several times and lost her orientation in the darkness.

But even if I did know
, she thought,
even if I did – they’re much too high up. I couldn’t jump up to them. The only way up is to climb, and the walls are too slippery for that
.

She tried regardless. Tried to imitate the way free climbers negotiate chimneys, their hands and feet propped to the left and right, but she couldn’t get a grip. After four attempts she was exhausted, paddling in the water and wheezing. A fast pulse was throbbing in the wound on her left hand.

She had no choice but to wait, ration her energy and hope that Sigart was underestimating the police.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight
.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight
.

Beatrice counted her breaths. If the time was passing down here, it would be up there too, up where the darkness was endless.

But it couldn’t possibly be as slow as down here. She counted on, counted and wished she had a watch so she could see how long she had already managed to hold out.

The worst thing was the cold. Her teeth were chattering uncontrollably and her fingers and toes had long since gone numb, which meant that any more attempts at climbing would be futile. She had already tried, again and again.

I’m so tired
.

But going to sleep meant death. Not moving meant death. Despite that, Beatrice turned over onto her back in the water and propped herself against the shaft with her shoulders and knees, still paddling her hands to keep herself awake. She looked up and wondered if she would be able to tell when the sun rose. Whether a beam of light would push its way through the seams of the well cover.

That would give her some hope.

She paddled on half-heartedly. Once the world woke up again, someone would miss her. Florin would wonder why she hadn’t come into the office. He would probably call her at around nine or half-past.
So late
.

Unless there was news. Then he might get in touch sooner, maybe even around eight.

She flexed her fingers. Open, shut, open, shut. Were they even responding? She couldn’t feel a thing.

She tried to float. It didn’t work; it was much too narrow here. But her arms hurt so much.

Suddenly her mouth was full of water; she spluttered, gasped, spluttered again. Had she drifted off? The cold was paralysing her body and her thoughts; she had to keep herself awake somehow.

Beatrice began to sing. The first song that came into her mind was ‘Lemon Tree’ by Fool’s Garden. Her voice was loud, louder than she had expected, presumably because of the well shaft.

If someone was out there – maybe they would hear her?

She sang whatever songs she could think of, holding her breath now and then so as not to miss any sounds that might make their way down from above.

No. There was only silence, and the endless gurgling of her movements in the water. The world was a long way away and had no idea she was down here.

Beatrice only stopped singing when she realised it was using a dangerous amount of energy. But she could hum at least … the first English song that Jakob had learnt at school came into her mind.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star

How I wonder what you are

Up above the world so high

Like a diamond in the sky …

He had sung it to her in the kitchen, hopping around with a beaming smile, and when he got to the words ‘diamond in the sky’ his eyes had got so big and round and …

Was she crying now after all? Her eyes were burning, and her nose felt swollen. The hum stuck in her throat like a cold, half-chewed lump of food.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight
.

One. Two …

Mina doing a cartwheel on the living-room carpet. ‘Look at me, look at me!’

Jakob pulls three squashed dandelion flowers out from behind his back. ‘I picked them for you.’

‘Chin up, sweetheart,’ laughs Evelyn, and Achim says, ‘None of them look as beautiful as you in your uniform.’

Five. Six
.

A croissant without jam. Crooked fingers. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ calls Evelyn cheerily. ‘Hold your head high, my girl. Even if your neck’s dirty.’

Head. High. Chin. Up. Cold, completely cold
.

A cup with steaming coffee, the milk foam frothing. Florin places his hand on hers, a dark strand of hair falls forwards onto his forehead, uniting with the arc of his brow. ‘Beatrice.’

‘Yes.’ She says. She thinks. Has he heard her?

Jakob flings his arms around her neck. ‘Frau Sieber gave me a gold star.’

That’s true, Beatrice can see it shining.
Twinkle, twinkle
.

Now something falls. So loud.

Evelyn is singing Spandau Ballet’s ‘Gold’. She has such a beautiful voice.

‘Bea. Look at me.’

David is here too. What does he want? He’s pulling and tugging at her, it hurts. If she could speak, she would say she doesn’t want to see him any more. That she can’t.

He pulls at her, and she can fly.

‘We’ve got her!’

‘Bea!’

Don’t disturb me, not now
.

‘We have to wake her up. Bea!’

Shaking. Pressure on her face. Light.

‘She’s opened her eyes. Thank God. Everything’s okay. Can you hear me, Bea?’

Yes. No. Slow
.

Then things come back, the shapes, the names. Florin.

The cold.

Beatrice felt firm ground beneath her feet. Headlights cut through the dark grey of an early morning. People were walking close to her, many people. ‘Wha-w-w-’ Her mouth wouldn’t obey her.

Someone lifted her upper body and peeled off her shirt. ‘Where are the blankets? Why is it taking so long? Stefan, give me your jacket.’

The scent of chewing gum.

Florin was kneeling next to her, dripping wet. Bechner handed him a woollen blanket, and he put it around her shoulders, wrapping it so tightly that she couldn’t move her arms. Then he pulled off his own wet shirt.

‘The ambulance is on its way. It shouldn’t be too long now.’ Florin pulled her close to him, holding her tight against his chest. ‘We have to keep you awake, do you hear me? You’re hypothermic.’

‘H-h-how di—’

He held her tighter. ‘Your text message sounded strange. I brooded over it for five minutes and then called you, but your phone was turned off. You didn’t answer the landline, but I know that Achim—’ He left the sentence unfinished. ‘We had to look for Sigart, of course, and I had an uneasy feeling. Who could have kidnapped him from the hospital, completely undisturbed, without anyone noticing? So I spoke to his doctor on the phone and asked him what his condition was. ‘Not bad at all,’ the doctor said. He said he had recovered quickly, that the amputation wounds had been operated on, and that he could be released in two to three days if he didn’t get any infections. I asked about the blood loss and he said it wasn’t that bad. And the wound on his neck? He said it wasn’t that deep, and that no major arteries had been affected.’ Beatrice could feel him shaking his head. ‘Then things started to drop into place in my mind. I got in the car and drove round to Sigart’s flat, but there was no one there. Then I went to your place. I’m not sure exactly why.’

Florin’s chest rose and fell slowly and calmly. Beatrice tried to match the rhythm of her breathing with his. All around them, policemen were roaming around the meadow, and from snatches of their conversation she could tell they were looking for Sigart.

‘I kept a lookout for your car, but I couldn’t see it anywhere, even though there were plenty of parking spaces free in front of your building. So I rang your doorbell and tried to reach you on your mobile again. Then I drove back to Sigart’s flat and scoured the surrounding streets. That’s when I found your car.’

And you immediately worked out what had happened?
Beatrice tried to get her question out clearly. It took a while, but she managed it.

‘It was my first theory, yes. The cellar in the forest. A shot in the dark, to be honest, but when we found your mobile down there I knew I’d been right.’

‘M-mine and … N-Nora’s.’

‘No. Just yours. But you weren’t there. Then we found the sign on the slats of the shed, a six, and everything became clear.’

‘Sigart,’ whispered Beatrice. ‘D-do you already know, w-where …’

‘No. I’m not sure, but I thought I saw someone disappearing into the forest as we arrived. Maybe it was him, maybe it was just an animal.’

Had he waited? To find out how their bet would turn out? ‘I w-w-won,’ she whispered. ‘Florin? My mobile. P-please.’

‘Really?’

She nodded. Sigart had taken Nora Papenberg’s mobile with him and left her own.
And I know why
.

‘Stefan?’ Florin didn’t let her go. ‘Beatrice wants her phone – could you bring it to her, please?’ She felt him stroke her hair gently, and closed her eyes. Maybe she would sleep after all, just for a moment.

‘What did you win?’

‘Hmm?’

‘You just said you’d won.’

‘Oh. Something … like a bet.’

Florin didn’t probe further. Every time Bea shuddered, he held her closer, as if he wanted to absorb the trembling with his own body. Now and then, a drop of water fell from his hair onto Beatrice’s cheek, running down it like a tear.

Then Stefan came with the phone. He squatted down next to them. ‘The ambulance will be here in a moment. I just called to check.’ He smiled shyly at Bea. ‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Yes.’

‘Glad to hear it. We were so shocked before when we found you in the well. Didn’t you hear us shouting for you?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Florin climbed down straight away, and he would probably have brought you up even without a rope if he had to.’ Now his smile wasn’t so shy any more.

‘Thank you, Stefan. Could you give Bea her phone now, please?’

She tried to sit up straight, but even a hint of a movement hurt; every muscle in her body felt sore. Florin supported her as she reached for the phone, but her fingers were too clammy and stiff to be able to hold it. It fell next to her in the grass. She clasped her whole hand around it, but it was like trying to handle an instrument she had no experience with whatsoever. The mobile slipped out of her fingers again. ‘Did you put the battery back in?’

‘No, we found it like that,’ said Stefan. Florin released one of his arms from her and reached for the phone.

Then it had been Sigart. In case the police turned up. And they had.