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Vienna, Austria
Monday, 25 January, 7:00 a.m.
––––––––
Rowan dropped us off at the Medical University of Vienna and said he would be back before we were done. The wind burned my skin and made my eyes water. Not to mention my nose's reaction. I tried my best not to look as cold as I felt, Aidan moved behind me to block the wind. As we stepped through the morgue's front doors, I removed the layers of clothing and thanked the detective for the coffee she placed on the table.
Aidan's accent flawless as he spoke and laughed with Detective Wagner, while I warmed myself with the coffee and tried my best to appear as if I followed their conversation. The caffeine welcome; jetlag had never been my friend.
Even though Aidan and I had made a superb attempt at tiring each other out the previous night, it only made us hungry. Rowan hadn't been in the apartment when we went in search of the leftovers from dinner.
Detective Wagner pulled out a chair across the table and nodded. Younger than I expected a homicide detective to be, or perhaps her anti-wrinkle creams worked better than mine. Her dark hair tied in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. I would've thought her an attorney if we were to pass each other on the street.
"We have identified the bodies. The female victim is twenty-two-year-old Dana Ichilov. An Israeli national, here on a student visa studying at Universität Wien. The male victim is Franz Brandstätter, twenty-six. He planned to emigrate to Canada. We identified him through his fingerprints, for the Canadian criminal record check."
"It's a sad irony," Aidan said and reached for my hand under the table. "Brandstätter sounds like fire starter, but it means fire city, implying a city worker."
"Your German is good." Detective Wagner smiled at my husband.
"How did you identify Dana Ichilov?" I asked. "I thought the bodies were burnt beyond recognition."
Detective Wagner gave a stiff nod. "Yes, they were. As you will see when we go to the autopsy room, Franz's right hand isn't burnt. It stuck out of a hole the killer made in the drum. We suspect for ventilation for the fire, not the victims. Miss Ichilov, we identified through the serial number on the plate in her skull. She was in a motorcycle accident four years ago."
"Did you know Herr Brandstätter?" I brought the mug to my lips and studied her over the rim.
"Nein." Detective Wagner shifted in her seat.
Next to me Aidan remained quiet, so I continued. "No? You referred to the female victim as Miss Ichilov but called Herr Brandstätter – Franz. It seems personal to call a murder victim by his first name, if you weren't freunde." The few German words I knew came in handy. Aidan would correct my pronunciation later and thank me for not including swear words to any of the questions I directed at Detective Wagner. One slipped out when I stood next to the bodies.
Aidan and I followed Detective Wagner to the autopsy room. I considered asking her again about the nature of her relationship with Franz, but it didn't matter. This killer was mine to hunt and bring to justice, not hers. No point in suggesting she recuse herself from a case which would lead nowhere. The killer was long gone.
Over the years I've witnessed more than enough death, in various forms, but a burnt body, or a floater, is something I doubt anyone can ever get used to. I took a deep breath before we stepped through the doors of the autopsy room, knowing the bodies were already waiting for us. The smell familiar, yet different, to the burn victims I had seen during the war. I wondered what type of fire exhilarant the killer used, and how long it would take the forensic laboratory to answer this question. Perhaps we would also have left Vienna by then, hopefully heading home and not to see more victims.
As Detective Wagner had said, Franz Brandstätter's right hand was the only part the flames didn't touch. Dana Ichilov hadn't been as lucky. The medical examiner confirmed what I already knew – both victims were alive when they were forced into the 200 litre drums. They had breathed in the flames, their lungs burnt. I asked permission to take my own photos of the bodies, and the drums standing in a corner of the room. With no serial numbers, we couldn't trace where the killer purchased the steel drums. I doubt he brought it on a flight in his carry-on.
Aidan thanked the medical examiner and Detective Wagner for their time, and for sharing details about the case with two detectives from a country he didn't name. They didn't ask any questions, and we offered them no lies. Someone high up gave them explicit instructions that any information they uncovered during their respective investigations be shared with us.
Rowan waited for us where he dropped us off earlier and asked, "Where to?"
"Meierei im Stadtpark," Aidan said. His accent made my spine tingle for all the right reasons and chased away the images of the two bodies which were added to the reel of my mind.
Rowan glanced at me in the rear-view mirror. "Can you eat after what you just saw?"
"You have no idea who I am, do you?" I smiled at him.
"Apart from the perfect woman for me?"
Aidan punched his brother's shoulder; my laughter filled the SUV. It's a strange world we live in, and those who face death and destruction every day. As Aidan had said years before, compartmentalising is the best way to cope.
"After breakfast we need to find the local tattoo artist our unsub visited. He wouldn't have left without adding Dana Ichilov's face to his back. Also, we need to find out how the killer finds his victims, not just the two here. From what I've read, nothing indicates the male and female victims were acquainted. Their paths never crossed. Why kill them together? Why them?"
At the exact moment Rowan glanced in the rear-view mirror, Aidan stared at the side mirror. "Do you think they realise they're being followed?" Aidan removed the SIG from his thigh holster and checked the chamber.
The atmosphere inside the SUV became electric. Deep inside me, the darkness lifted her head. A predatory grin spread across my face.
We were being hunted.