Page 8 of Nothing Watching

Wyatt took a look, his heart clenching as he saw the strangulation marks on the pretty young blonde woman’s neck. She’d been wearing jeans and a bright blue top, and he saw that a tan jacket, which she must have been carrying, was also on the scene, as if she had dropped it when she fell.

“Who found the body?” Juliette queried.

“It was found just after midnight, by one of the residents on this street. He arrived home from his work as a theater backstage manager, in his car. He saw her, stopped, felt her pulse, and called the police immediately,” Fischer explained. “He did not touch the scene. We arrived ten minutes later.”

“Was the victim’s ID on her?” Wyatt asked, and Lehmann nodded.

“Yes. ID, phone, all her personal items were still on her. The guesthouse key was in her pocket, and there was money in her wallet.”

So this had been the murder equivalent of a hit and run. Nothing taken, and a body left on the scene—but then again, why here? It was getting more and more puzzling, Wyatt thought.

“Any other trace evidence found here?” Juliette asked.

“Yes. There were a couple of hairs found, caught in the victim’s watch strap,” Fischer answered. She was standing quietly at the border of the crime scene, turning any interested onlookers away to ensure the scene remained private.

That gave them a lead which Wyatt knew could be critical, and hearing that there was any trace evidence caused excitement, and his hunting instinct, to flare. If they could match the DNA to a suspect, they might finally have a break in the case.

“Any trace evidence from the first murder?” Wyatt asked.

“We haven’t gotten any from there,” the other officer said. “Unfortunately, there was a big storm the previous night. There was a massive downpour, and if there had been hairs, or any other trace, it would have been washed away, we think.”

Fischer cleared her throat. “We are awaiting information from the university where the first victim attended. They are identifying whether these pages are from any of the works in their library. We have also asked them for a list of the people who were in the class the night that the second victim was killed, as well as the professor who took the class. They said this information would be available within a day.”

These German police were quick, and he admired their efficiency yet again. Wyatt glanced over at Juliette, who was furrowing her brow in deep concentration as she examined the area where the page had been found.

“Any ideas on this signature?” he asked her, hoping for some insight.

“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “But it might give us a lead to the killer’s mind, or his thinking. It might be there to taunt us, or as a personal tribute from him to the victim. It could be designed to mislead us, but I can’t help thinking that whatever these pages are, they have relevance to him and there’s a reason why they are there.”

Wyatt nodded, pleased by this insight.

Sierra had her phone out and was looking at a map. Wyatt guessed she was plotting the route to the youth hostel. As he peered at the map, she glanced up.

“I’m wondering why she was out this way,” she said. “There doesn’t seem to be anything in this direction. The Metro’s the other way, the buses and shops are the other way. Why would she have been walking here?”

“I think that’s the question we need to answer now,” Juliette said. “It’s going to be important to view the bodies, but before we do, let’s go to the youth hostel, if it’s so close by.”

Wyatt nodded, thinking this was a good idea. Hannah had surely walked this way for a reason, and if anyone at the hostel knew the reason, it could lead them to the killer.

CHAPTER FIVE

The backpackers’ hostel where Hannah had been living was a five-minute walk from the crime scene, and as they walked the short route—down one road and up the next—Juliette felt sad and regretful that Hannah had been murdered while so close to the safety of her home base.

The hostel was a large, brick building with a neat front yard in which a couple of chairs and tables were set up, with sun umbrellas. When she arrived—with Wyatt and Sierra in tow, as well as the two German detectives—they saw three young men who looked in their early twenties, sitting outside, shirtless and in shorts. One was typing on his phone, one was reading, and the other was simply leaning back, with his head turned to the heavens, absorbing the rays.

A sign on the fence outside read: Haus Abenteuer. The House of Adventure. And Juliette was sure it was, for so many young people keen to experience Berlin at backpacker rates, and socialize with others who were youthful, free-spirited, wanted to party until all hours, and didn’t mind sharing a room.

Hannah had been part of this carefree world until the killer had ripped her away from it. What had happened to attract his attention here? Who had even known about Hannah’s presence? The hostel was in a fairly central area, tucked away among residential buildings. Had someone tracked her here? Questions were flooding Juliette’s mind.

Entrance, she noted, was via a buzzer on the gate. She pressed it, and it made a loud chiming noise that alerted the travelers in the yard to her presence.

One of the young men sat up, staring at them before hurrying over.

“The international police are here to speak to you about the murder,” Fischer said in rapid German, showing her badge. Quickly, the man dialed a number on the keypad, and the gate buzzed open.

They all filed in as the young man explained, in Spanish-accented tones, “Yes, we have been waiting for you. Two of the roommates of Hannah—Eva Cortez and Deena Jones—are waiting in the living room. They had special permission to stay behind today.”

“Special permission?” Juliette asked, surprised.

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