Bad Wolf (35 page)

“I’m on my way to a meeting.” Emma wanted to escape quickly, but with a sudden lunge, Mrs. Grasser grabbed her by the wrist.

“Where there is light, there is also shadow,” she whispered significantly. “Do you know the story about the wolf and the kid goats? No? Shall I tell it to you?”

Emma tried to escape, but the old woman was gripping her arm like a vise.

“Once upon a time, there was a goat who had six little kids and loved them like a mother loves her children,” Helga began.

“As far as I can recall, there were seven kids,” Emma put in.

“In my story, there are six. Now listen.…” The old woman’s dark eyes glistened, as if she wanted to tell Emma a good joke. Emma’s discomfort grew. Corinna had once told her that Helga Grasser was a bit slow, but she was indispensable in the kitchen as a dishwasher. Florian had made many blunt comments about the mental state of Helmut Grasser’s mother. Ever since contracting meningitis forty years ago, Helga Grasser had been totally gaga. All the kids used to be scared of her because she particularly liked telling them bloodthirsty horror stories. She had spent many years in the locked psychiatric ward; Florian didn’t seem to know why.

“One day,” the old woman whispered hoarsely, shoving her face close to Emma’s, “the goat had to go away, so she called all six kids together and said, ‘Dear children, I have to go away for a few days. Watch out for the wolf and don’t go up in the attic! If he finds you there, he will eat you up, skin, hair, and all. The villain may disguise himself, but you can recognize him by his rough voice and his black fur.’ The kids said, ‘Dear Mother, we’ll be very careful. You can leave now. Don’t worry.’ Then the old goat bleated and confidently went on her way.”

“I really have to get going,” Emma said, interrupting the woman, who was wiping drops of spittle from her cheek with her free hand.

“You think I’m crazy, too, don’t you?” She let go of Emma’s arm. “But I’m not. Years ago, some bad things happened here. Don’t you believe me?”

When she saw Emma’s bewildered expression, she cackled, baring her two canine teeth, which were all that remained in her lower jaw. On top, two gold teeth protruded from her gums.

“Then ask your husband sometime about his twin sister.”

Corinna came walking around the corner. Her eyes fell on Emma’s pale face.

“Helga! Are you telling horror stories again?” she asked sternly, her hands on her hips.

“Bah!” said the old woman, and tottered off toward the kitchen.

Corinna waited until she had disappeared behind the rhododendron bushes, then put an arm around Emma’s shoulder.

“You look really frightened,” she said with concern. “What did she say to you?”

“She told me the story of the wolf and the seven kids.” Emma forced a laugh and hoped that she sounded amused. “She’s really something else.”

“You shouldn’t take Helga too seriously. Sometimes she makes up things, but she’s harmless.” Corinna smiled. “Come on, let’s go. We’re going to be late.”

*   *   *

The reception desk of Herzmann Productions was deserted, as were all the offices. Pia and Bodenstein went around opening doors and eventually burst in on a staff meeting that was going on in the conference room. The nine people sitting around the table were listening to a man, but he fell silent at the sight of the Criminal Police. Jan Niemöller, the manager of Herzmann Productions, jumped up and brought the meeting to a close. As everyone filed out, he introduced Pia and her boss to the speaker, Dr. Wolfgang Matern, CEO of Antenne Pro. Judging by the crestfallen look of the staff as they left the room, he had not been presenting good news.

“We would like to speak with you, as well.” Pia blocked Meike Herzmann’s way as she tried to slip out unnoticed. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

“Because I didn’t feel like it.”

“Was that the same reason why you didn’t visit your mother?” Pia asked.

“That’s none of your damned business,” Meike hissed.

“You’re right,” said Pia with a shrug. “I was at the hospital. Your mother is not doing well. And I want to find out who did this to her.”

“That’s what we taxpayers expect of you,” Meike snapped. Pia would have liked to tell this little bitch what she thought of her, but she controlled herself.

“On Friday morning, you went over to your mother’s house. You picked up the mail and put it on the sideboard,” she said. “Did you notice any particular letter or note at the time?”

“No,” Meike said. Pia did not miss the quick glance over to the CEO of Antenne Pro, who was talking to Bodenstein.

“You’re lying,” she said, determined to knock the stuffing out of her. “Why? Are you in cahoots with the people who attacked your mother? Did you have something to do with it? Maybe you were even hoping that your mother would die so you could inherit her money.”

Meike Herzmann first turned red, then pale, indignantly gasping for breath.

“It’s illegal to withhold evidence and obstruct an investigation. If it turns out that’s what you’re doing, then you’re in big trouble.” Pia saw the uncertainty in the young woman’s eyes. “Please write down the address where we can reach you. And in the future, answer your cell phone when we call, or else I’ll have to arrest you for refusing to cooperate.”

That was nonsense, of course, but Meike Herzmann seemed to have no experience with the law. She also seemed quite intimidated. Pia left her standing there and went over to join Bodenstein and Dr. Matern, who, according to his own testimony, had no idea what Hanna Herzmann had been working on.

“I’m the president and CEO,” he said. “We work with a lot of production companies. There’s no way for me to keep track of who is doing what for each program, even for weekly shows. Bottom line, I’m interested only in the viewer ratings. I have nothing to do with the content.”

He stated that he’d known Hanna for many years and that their relationship was friendly but professional. Pia listened in silence. Matern was a businessman through and through, polite, noncommittal, and slippery as an eel. Given the fact that Hanna Herzmann was the ratings queen of the station, and the station did own 30 percent of Herzmann Productions, it would not be in Matern’s interest to lose his cash cow on a long-term basis. Just as Pia was about to ask him about Kilian Rothemund and Bernd Prinzler, her cell rang. Christoph! Her thoughts flew to Lilly. She hoped nothing had happened. Whenever Christoph knew she was in the midst of a sensitive investigation, he almost never called her, but sent a text instead.

“Hi, Pia.” She heard Lilly’s voice and was relieved. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“Hi, Lilly.” Pia lowered her voice and moved to the other side of the conference table. “We saw each other last night. Where are you now?”

“In Grandpa’s office. You know what, Pia? I got a tick! In my hair. But Grandpa operated and got rid of it.”

“Yikes. Did it hurt?” Pia had to smile as she turned to face the wall. She listened to Lilly for a while, then promised her she’d get home earlier.

“Grandpa wants me to tell you that we’re making a reeeeeally delicious potato salad.”

“Well, that’s one more reason to get home early.”

Pia saw Bodenstein signaling to her that he was leaving. She said good-bye to Lilly and stuck the phone in the back pocket of her jeans. She was truly sorry that the little girl would have to leave soon.

“I find it odd that no one on Hanna’s staff knows anything about her research nor do any of her other colleagues,” Pia said to her boss as they left the office and headed for their car. “And the daughter seems really suspect. How could anyone have so little sympathy for her own mother?”

She was not satisfied at all with the results of her conversations. Seldom had an investigation moved so sluggishly as with the two current cases. At their morning meeting, Commissioner Engel had put the pressure on for the first time, and rightly so, because there’d been no progress in either the Mermaid case or Hanna Herzmann’s. Bodenstein had asked his colleagues in Hanau for their cooperation. A round-the-clock stakeout of the box at the Hanau post office seemed to be their last chance to learn the whereabouts of Bernd Prinzler. An examination of the records of all Residential Registry offices in all of Germany had produced no satisfactory results.

“After
Germany’s Most Wanted
is broadcast on Wednesday night, something will happen,” Bodenstein prophesied. “I know it.”

“All right, your word in God’s ear,” replied Pia drily, unlocking the car. She looked up because she sensed someone was watching them. Meike Herzmann was standing at a window on the sixth floor, staring down at them.

“I’m going to get you, too,” Pia murmured. “I’m not going to let you get away with lying to me.”

*   *   *

Emma’s in-laws had already left for the airport by the time Emma got home after her meeting. All morning, the strange encounter with Helga Grasser had been on her mind. Of course she could have called Florian and asked him directly why he’d never told her about having a twin sister. But after everything that had happened lately, she simply couldn’t bring herself to do that.

Emma hesitated when she reached her in-laws’ front door. The door was never locked, and she could come and go as she pleased. Still she felt like an intruder as she stepped into the house and looked around. Renate kept her photo albums in the living room cabinet. They were arranged by year, and Emma started with the album from 1964, the year Florian was born. An hour later, she had leafed through dozens of albums. She had seen pictures of Florian, his foster and adopted siblings, and a zillion other children at all ages, but no girls that looked like they might be Florian’s twin sister.

With a mixture of disappointment and relief, Emma broke off her search and left her in-laws’ house. Had Corinna been right? Was Helga Grasser really just a crazy old woman who liked to tell stories? But why had she changed the details in the fairy tale about the wolf and the seven kids? Emma stuck the key in the lock of the door to the apartment. Why had she spoken of only
six
kids? Had she meant Florian and his siblings? Florian, Corinna, Sarah, Nicky, Ralf—if so, then one was missing. But who? Emma’s gaze shifted to the wooden stairs that led to the attic. She’d been up there only once, when Renate had shown her the house. Hadn’t Helga Grasser mentioned an attic in her fairy-tale version?

Emma pulled the key back out of the lock and climbed up the narrow steps. The plywood door was stuck and she had to press her shoulder against it until it swung open with an awful creak. Stuffy, hot air gusted toward her. The heat of the past few days had accumulated beneath the poorly insulated roof. Scant light came through the tiny attic window, but it was bright enough for her to see carefully stacked moving cartons, discarded furniture, and all sorts of other junk that had piled up over forty years. A thick layer of dust covered the creaky wooden floor, and spiderwebs hung from the rafters. The whole attic smelled of wood, dust, and mothballs.

At a loss, Emma looked around and then pushed aside a moth-eaten velvet curtain that was fastened to a crossbeam. She gave a start when she saw a woman facing her in the dim half-light, and it took a few seconds before she realized that she was looking at her own reflection. A large mirror was leaning against the wall. Its glass had turned cloudy over time. Behind the curtain, there were also crates and cartons, all meticulously labeled. Winter jackets, a Carrera racecourse, Playmobil, wooden toys, receipts, Florian’s books, Corinna’s schoolwork, baby clothes, Halloween costumes, Christmas tree ornaments, and Christmas cards from 1973 to 1983.

Josef and Renate wouldn’t be back from Berlin until tomorrow, so she had plenty of time to look through all the boxes and chests of drawers. But where to start?

Finally, Emma pulled out a box labeled
Florian: kindergarten, grammar school, high school.
She had to sneeze when she opened the lid. Her mother-in-law had certainly saved everything: notebooks, schoolbooks, Florian’s artwork, receipts for school milk, swimming awards, programs from school plays, even a gym bag with the initials FF cross-stitched on it. Emma leafed through one notebook after another, looking at the clumsy writing, the fading ink. Did Florian know that these relics of his childhood still existed?

Emma closed the box and put it back in place, then moved on, looking at scratched furniture, rickety children’s chairs, an old-fashioned baby scale, a wonderful antique typewriter that would probably bring a tidy sum on eBay. She kept sneezing; her T-shirt was sticking to her back and her eyes were itching. She was just about to give up, when she spied a carton hidden beneath the sloping ceiling behind the bricked-up fireplace. She didn’t recognize the name that was printed on the side in big block letters, and it aroused her curiosity. She squatted down, which was not easy in her condition, pulled out the carton, and opened it. Unlike Florian’s carefully packed childhood memories, this box looked as though someone had simply tossed everything inside. Books, notebooks, drawings, a doll, stuffed animals, photos, documents, articles of clothing, a flowered poetry album with a lock, a red hood. Emma lifted out a shoe box, opened it, and pulled out a black-and-white photo with a white border like people had in the sixties. Her heart skipped a beat and then started racing in a wild staccato. The photo showed a smiling Renate with two little blond children on her lap, and in the foreground two cakes, each with two candles. Emma turned the photo over, fingers trembling.
Florian and Michaela, 2nd birthday, December 16, 1966
was written on the back.

*   *   *

Back at her desk, Pia typed in “Wolfgang Matern
+
Antenne Pro” into Google. She instantly got hundreds of hits. Wolfgang Matern, born 1965, was the son of Dr. Hartmut Matern, the noted media mogul. He was one of the first to see the lucrative possibilities of commercial television in Germany, and he exploited the opportunity to amass a fortune. Even today, Matern senior, at seventy-eight, held the office of chairman of a diversified holding company, which owned various commercial television and cable networks as well as numerous other firms. The company also held part interests in other enterprises. Wolfgang had studied business administration and political science, earning a doctorate in the latter. On the Web site of the Matern Group, which was headquartered in Frankfurt am Main, he was listed as a member of the board, in addition to being the program director and chief operating officer of several commercial broadcast stations that belonged to the company conglomerate. Pia found innumerable photos of him, most of which showed him with his father at various public events, lectures, awards dinners, or television galas. The Web had absolutely nothing to say about the private lives of the Materns. As genuine media professionals, they no doubt knew how to protect themselves from intrusive scrutiny. Not much changed when she entered Wolfgang Matern’s name by itself. A sheer waste of time.