Snow White Must Die (28 page)

“We found something interesting in your son’s room, Mr. Sartorius.”

Kirchhoff noticed the triumphant gleam in Behnke’s eyes, the arrogant twitch at the corners of his mouth. He enjoyed displaying the superiority he felt in situations like this, based on his authority as a police officer. A shabby character trait that Pia deeply resented.

As if touched by a magic wand, Sartorius again seemed to cave in.

“This,” Behnke announced without taking his eyes off Sartorius, “was in the seat pocket of a pair of jeans in your son’s room.” He flared his nostrils, sure of victory. “Does this belong to your son? Hmm? I don’t think so. There are initials on the back written in indelible ink. Take a look.”

Bodenstein loudly cleared his throat and reached out his hand, gesturing to Behnke to hand over the item. Pia could have kissed her boss for that. She had to stop herself from breaking into a grin. Without a word Oliver had put Behnke in his place—and he did it in front of his colleagues from the evidence team. Behnke’s furious gnashing of teeth was almost audible as he reluctantly handed his boss the plastic bag with his discovery.

“Thank you,” said Bodenstein without even looking at him. “You can all continue your work outside.”

Behnke’s lean face first turned pale, then red with anger at this rebuke. Woe to the poor devil who now crossed his path and made a mistake. He glanced at Kirchhoff, but she succeeded in maintaining a completely disinterested expression. Meanwhile, Bodenstein examined the find in the plastic bag and frowned.

“This seems to be a cell phone belonging to Amelie Fröhlich,” he said gravely, after Behnke and the other two officers had gone. “How could it have wound up in your son’s pants pocket?”

Hartmut Sartorius had turned pale, and he shook his head in bewilderment.

“I … I have no idea,” he whispered. “I really don’t.”

*   *   *

Nadia’s cell rang and vibrated, but she merely cast a quick glance at the display and put it down.

“Go ahead and take it.” The melody was gradually getting on Tobias’s nerves. “They aren’t going to let up.”

She grabbed the phone and took the call. “Hello, Hartmut,” she said, looking at Tobias, who straightened up involuntarily. What did his father want with Nadia?

“Oh?… Aha … Yes, I understand.” She listened without taking her eyes off Tobias. “No … I’m sorry. He isn’t here … No, I don’t know where he could be. I just got back from Hamburg myself … Yes, of course. If he calls me I’ll tell him.”

She hung up. For a moment it was quite still.

“You lied,” Tobias said. “How come?”

Nadia didn’t answer at once. She lowered her eyes and sighed. When she looked up she was struggling with tears.

“The police just searched your house,” she said tensely. “They want to talk to you.”

A search of the house? Why was that? Tobias got up abruptly. He couldn’t possibly leave his father alone in this situation. He had long ago reached the limit of what he could tolerate.

“Please, Tobi,” Nadia begged. “Don’t go there. I … I … won’t let them arrest you again.”

“Who says they want to arrest me?” Tobias replied in astonishment. “They probably just have a few more questions.”

“No!” She jumped up and the chair crashed to the granite floor. Her expression was desperate, and tears were pouring from her eyes.

“What’s the matter?”

She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. He stroked her back and held her close.

“They found Amelie’s cell phone in the pocket of your jeans.” Her voice sounded muffled against his neck. Tobias was speechless. Anxious now, he pulled away. There must be some mistake. How could Amelie’s cell end up in his jeans?

“Don’t go,” Nadia begged him. “Let’s go somewhere, somewhere far away, until all this is cleared up.”

Tobias stared mutely into space. With an effort he tried to get his feeling of confusion under control. He clenched and unclenched his fists. What the hell had happened during the hours when he had blacked out?

“They’re going to arrest you,” said Nadia again, though now sounding more controlled. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You know they will. And then you won’t have a chance.”

She was right, he knew that. Events were repeating themselves in a downright eerie way. Eleven years ago it was Laura’s necklace that was found in the milk room and used as circumstantial evidence to prove his guilt. He felt panic prickling at his spine, and he sank down onto a kitchen chair. No doubt he was the ideal perpetrator. Based on the fact that Amelie’s cell phone was found in his pants pocket they would tie a noose and put it around his neck as soon as he turned himself in. Suddenly the old wound burst open again; like poisonous pus the self-doubt crept through his veins, his body, through every convolution of his brain.
Murderer, murderer, murderer!
They had said it to him for so long, until he became convinced he had really done it. He looked at Nadia.

“Okay,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “I won’t go there. But … what if I really did do it?”

*   *   *

“Not a word to the press or anyone else about the cell phone,” Bodenstein ordered. All the officers taking part in the house search had gathered under the entrance gate. The rain was pouring down and the temperature had dropped twenty degrees in the past twenty-four hours. The first snowflakes were mixed in with the rain.

“But why?” Behnke protested. “The guy goes and disappears and we stand here like a bunch of idiots!”

“I don’t want to start a witch hunt,” Bodenstein countered. “The mood in the village has been stirred up enough. I’m ordering a total information blackout until I’ve spoken with Tobias Sartorius. Is that clear?”

The men and women nodded; only Behnke crossed his arms in exasperation and shook his head. The humiliation from earlier smoldered inside him like a burning fuse, and Bodenstein knew that. On top of everything else, Behnke had understood exactly what his assignment to secure evidence meant: this degrading treatment was a punishment. Bodenstein had made it clear to him in private how bitterly disappointed he was by Behnke’s breach of trust. In the past twelve years Bodenstein had always generously ironed out any problems that Behnke had provoked because of his explosive temperament. But now, he had explicitly told him, it had to stop. This violation of regulations could not be excused by family problems. Bodenstein hoped that Behnke would follow his orders; otherwise it would no longer be possible to protect him from the threat of suspension.

Oliver turned away and swiftly followed Pia to the car.

“Put out an APB on Tobias Sartorius.” He turned on the engine but didn’t drive off. “Damn, I was so sure that we wouldn’t find any trace of the girl at their farm.”

“You believe he did it, don’t you?” Pia grabbed her phone and called Ostermann. The wipers scraped across the windshield, and the heater fan was on full blast. Bodenstein bit his lip pensively. To be honest, he wasn’t really paying attention. Every time he tried to concentrate on the case, the image of a naked Cosima rolling in the sheets with a strange man leaped into his mind. Had she met the guy yesterday too? When he got home late at night she was already in bed asleep. He had taken the opportunity to check her cell phone, and found that all her call lists and text messages had been deleted. This time he hadn’t felt a single pang of conscience, even when he went through her coat and purse. He had almost given up his suspicions when he discovered in her wallet, stuck between the credit cards, two condoms.

“Oliver!” Pia’s voice startled him out of his reverie. “Kai found a passage in Amelie’s diary where she writes that her neighbor has started waiting for her, to drive her to the bus stop.”

“Yeah, so?”

“The neighbor is Claudius Terlinden.”

Oliver didn’t know where Pia was going with this. He couldn’t think. His mind just couldn’t seem to process the information.

“We have to talk to him,” said Pia with a hint of impatience in her voice. “We don’t know enough yet about the girl’s circle of friends and acquaintances to establish Tobias Sartorius as the only possible perpetrator.”

“Yes, you’re right.” He shifted into reverse and lurched into the street.

“Watch out for the bus!” Pia screamed, but too late. Brakes squealed, metal crashed into metal, and the car was shaken by a violent impact. Oliver’s head was slammed hard against the side window.

“Oh great.” Pia undid her seatbelt and climbed out. Dazed, Oliver looked back over his shoulder and saw through the rain-glazed window the contours of a large vehicle. Something warm was running down his face; he touched his cheek and stared in confusion at the blood on his hand. Only then did he realize what had happened. The thought of getting out in the rain and talking with an angry bus driver in the middle of the street made him sick. Everything made him sick. The door opened.

“Man, you’re bleeding!” Pia’s voice sounded at first shocked, but all of a sudden she burst out in snorting laughter. Behind her on the rainy street a crowd had gathered. Almost every one of their colleagues involved in the house search obviously wanted to inspect the damage to the BMW and the bus.

“What’s there to laugh about?” Oliver gave her an offended look.

“Please forgive me.” The tension that had been building inside her over the past few hours had given way to an almost hysterical laughing fit. “But somehow I thought your blood would be blue, not red.”

*   *   *

It was almost dark by the time Pia steered the rather dented but still drivable BMW through the gate of the Terlinden estate; this time it stood wide open. Fortunately Dr. Lauterbach just happened to be in her “branch office,” although normally she held consultations in her office in the old Altenhain courthouse on Wednesday afternoons. But she’d only stopped by to pick up a medical file for a visit to a patient when the accident occurred outside. She had quickly and expertly dressed the cut on Bodenstein’s head and advised him to lie down for the rest of the day, because there was the chance of a concussion. But he had staunchly refused. Pia, who had rapidly brought her outburst of levity under control, had an idea what was bothering her boss, although he hadn’t mentioned Cosima or his suspicions.

They were headed along the curving driveway, illuminated by low lamps, which led through a park with magnificent old trees, boxwood hedges, and flowerbeds bare in winter. Beyond a curve the house appeared out of the misty twilight. It was a big old villa in half-timbered style with oriels, towers, pointed gables, and invitingly lit windows. They drove into the inner courtyard and pulled up right in front of the three steps at the front door. Under the porch roof supported by massive wooden pillars an array of Halloween pumpkins grinned at them. Pia rang the doorbell, and at once a multivoiced barking arose inside the house. Through the old-fashioned milky glass panes of the front door she could dimly make out a whole pack of dogs jumping at the door; the highest jumper was a long-legged Jack Russell terrier, yapping like a maniac. A cold wind drove the fine rain, which was gradually changing to sharp little snow crystals, under the porch roof. Pia rang the bell again, and the barking of the dogs rose to an ear-splitting crescendo.

“I hope somebody hurries up,” she grumbled, putting up the collar of her jean jacket.

“Sooner or later someone will open the door.” Oliver leaned on the wooden railing and didn’t bat an eye. Pia gave him a sullen look. His stoic patience was making her blood boil. Finally footsteps approached, the dogs fell silent and vanished as if by magic. The front door was opened, and in the doorway appeared a girlish, delicate blonde dressed in a fur-edged vest over a turtleneck sweater, a knee-length checked skirt, and fashionable high-heeled boots. At first glance Pia took the woman to be in her mid-twenties. She had an ageless, smooth face and big blue baby-doll eyes, with which she scrutinized first Pia, then Oliver with polite reserve.

“Mrs. Terlinden?” Pia searched in the pocket of her down vest, then in her jean jacket underneath for her badge, while Bodenstein remained mute as a fish. The woman nodded. “My name is Pia Kirchhoff, and this is my colleague Oliver von Bodenstein. We’re from K-11 in Hofheim. Is your husband at home?”

“No, I’m sorry.” With a friendly smile Mrs. Terlinden offered her hand, which betrayed her real age. She must have passed fifty a few years ago, and her youthful attire suddenly seemed like a disguise. “Can I help you?”

She made no move to invite them inside. Through the open door Pia nonetheless caught a glimpse of the interior and saw a wide flight of stairs whose steps were covered with a Bordeaux-red carpet, an entry hall with a marble floor in a chessboard pattern, and dark framed oil paintings on high walls papered in saffron yellow.

“As you probably know, your neighbors’ daughter has been missing since Saturday night,” Pia began. “Yesterday the tracking dogs kept barking in the vicinity of your house, and we’ve asked ourselves why.”

“I’m not surprised. Amelie visits us often.” Mrs. Terlinden’s voice sounded like a bird chirping. Her eyes shifted from Pia to Oliver and back again. “She’s friends with our son Thies.”

With a gesture that seemed unconscious she reached up to smooth her hair, perfectly coiffed in a pageboy style. Then she glanced, a bit irritated, over at Bodenstein, who remained quiet in the background. The white bandage on his forehead glowed brightly in the dim light.

“Friends? Is Amelie your son’s girlfriend?”

“No, no, not at all. They just get along with each other,” Mrs. Terlinden replied guardedly. “Amelie doesn’t judge him or make him feel that he’s … different.”

Although Pia was steering the conversation, Mrs. Terlinden kept glancing over at Oliver, as if seeking his support. Pia knew this type of woman, this masterly rehearsed mixture of feminine helplessness and
coquetry
that awakened the protective instinct in almost every man. Few women were actually that weak; most of them had discovered over time this role was an effective method of manipulation.

“We would very much like to speak with your son,” she said. “Perhaps he can tell us something about Amelie.”