Snow White Must Die (33 page)

“His mother told us he’d had an attack and was now in the psychiatric ward.”

“That’s correct,” said the doctor. “I can’t tell you much more about it. Confidentiality, you understand. Thies is my patient.”

“We’ve been told that Thies had been stalking Amelie,” said Pia.

“He wasn’t stalking her, he just kept her company,” the doctor corrected. “Thies likes Amelie a lot, and that’s his way of showing affection. Incidentally, from the start Amelie accepted the way he is. She’s a very sensitive girl, in spite of her rather unusual appearance. That’s fortunate for Thies.”

“Thies’s father has bloody scratches on his hands after an argument with Thies,” said Pia. “Does Thies have a tendency toward violence?”

Dr. Lauterbach gave a somewhat worried smile. “Now we’re approaching the area I can’t discuss with you,” she replied. “But I presume that you suspect Thies of hurting Amelie. I consider that out of the question. Thies is autistic and behaves differently from a ‘normal’ person. He is not capable of showing his feelings or even expressing them. Now and then he has these … outbreaks, but very, very seldom. His parents are tremendously concerned about him, and he does well on the medications, which he’s been taking for years.”

“Would you say that Thies is mentally handicapped?”

“Absolutely not!” Dr. Lauterbach shook her head vehemently. “Thies is highly intelligent and has an extraordinary gift for painting.”

She pointed to the large-format abstract paintings that resembled those hanging on the walls in Terlinden’s house and office.

“Thies painted those?” Pia looked at the pictures in astonishment. At first sight she hadn’t discerned what they depicted, but now she could see it. She shuddered as she recognized human faces, distorted, desperate, the eyes of torment, fear, and terror. The intensity of these paintings was oppressive. How could anyone tolerate looking at these faces every day?

“Last summer my husband organized a show for him in Wiesbaden. It was a sensational success, and all forty-three paintings were sold.”

She sounded proud. Dr. Lauterbach liked her neighbor’s son, yet seemed to have enough professional distance to assess him and his behavior objectively.

“Claudius Terlinden supported the Sartorius family generously in the years following Tobias’s conviction,” Bodenstein now took over the conversation. “He hired a lawyer for Tobias, a very good one. Do you think it’s possible that he did this because he had a guilty conscience?”

“Why would he?” Dr. Lauterbach was no longer smiling.

“Perhaps because he knew that Thies had something to do with the disappearance of the girls.”

For a moment it was completely quiet, except for the incessant ringing of a telephone muted by the closed door.

The doctor frowned. “I’ve never looked at it that way,” she conceded pensively. “The fact is that back then Thies was utterly infatuated with Stefanie Schneeberger. He spent a lot of time with that girl, the way he does with Amelie today…”

She broke off when she realized where Bodenstein was going with this. She gave him a concerned look. “Good God!” she said. “No, no, I can’t believe that!”

“We really have to speak with Thies quite urgently,” Pia said emphatically. “It could lead us to Amelie.”

“I understand. But it’s difficult. I was worried he might do some harm to himself in his current state, so I had no other option than to transfer him to the locked psychiatric ward.” Dr. Lauterbach peered over her steepled hands and tapped her forefingers thoughtfully on her pursed lips. “I don’t have the authority to arrange for Thies to talk with you.”

“But if Thies has done something with Amelie, she could be in great danger,” Pia replied. “Maybe he has locked her up somewhere and she can’t get out.”

The doctor looked at Pia. Her eyes were dark with worry.

“You’re right,” she said then. “I’ll call the head psychiatric physician in Bad Soden.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Pia added, as if it had just occurred to her. “Tobias Sartorius told us that Amelie mentioned your husband in connection with the events of 1997. Apparently there was a rumor going around then that he had given the lead role in the play to Stefanie Schneeberger because he was especially fond of her.”

Dr. Lauterbach had already reached out her hand for the phone but now drew it back.

“Tobias was accusing everyone back then,” she replied. “He wanted to get his own neck out of the noose, which is perfectly understandable. But all suspicions lodged against third parties were completely cleared up in the course of the investigation. The fact is that my husband, who was the director of the drama club at the time, was absolutely taken by Stefanie’s talent. Add to that her looks, which were perfect for the role of Snow White.”

She put her hand again on the receiver.

“What time on Saturday did you leave the Ebony Club in Frankfurt?” Bodenstein now asked. “Can you remember?”

A surprised expression flitted across the doctor’s face. “Yes, of course I remember,” she said. “It was nine thirty.”

“And you then rode back to Altenhain with Claudius Terlinden?”

“No. I was on call that evening, so I’d taken my own car. At nine thirty I was called to an emergency in Königstein.”

“Aha. And the Terlindens and your husband? When did they leave?”

“Christine rode with me. She was worried about Thies, who was in bed with the flu. I dropped her off down by the bus stop and then continued on to Königstein. When I got back home at two a.m., my husband was already asleep.”

Bodenstein and Kirchhoff exchanged a quick glance. Claudius Terlinden had really been lying about the course of events on that Saturday night. But why?

“When you returned from your emergency call, you didn’t drive straight home, did you?” Bodenstein prodded. The question didn’t surprise Dr. Lauterbach.

“No. It was a little past one when I left Königstein.” She sighed. “I saw a man lying on the bench at the bus stop and stopped.” She shook her head slowly, her brown eyes full of sympathy. “Tobias was dead drunk and already suffering from hypothermia. It took me ten minutes to get him into my car. Hartmut and I then got him up to his room and into bed.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Kirchhoff wanted to know.

“No,” said the doctor. “He wasn’t responsive. First I considered calling the EMTs and having him taken to the hospital, but I knew he wouldn’t have wanted that in any case.”

“How come?”

“I’d treated him only a couple of days before that, after he’d been beaten up in the barn.” She leaned forward and looked at Bodenstein so urgently that he felt uncomfortable. “I really can’t help feeling sorry for him, no matter what he’s done. The others may say that ten years in prison was too little. But I think that Tobias will be suffering for the rest of his life.”

“There are indications that he may have had something to do with Amelie’s disappearance,” said Bodenstein. “You know him better than many other people. Do you think that’s possible?”

Dr. Lauterbach leaned back in her chair and said nothing for a long moment, without taking her eyes off Bodenstein.

“I wish,” she said at last, “I could say ‘no’ with full conviction. But unfortunately I can’t.”

*   *   *

She tore the short-haired wig off her head and dropped it carelessly on the floor. Her hands were shaking too much to untie the red ribbon that fastened the roll, so she impatiently grabbed some scissors and snipped through it. With heart pounding she unrolled the paintings on her desk. There were eight of them, and it took her breath away when she saw with horror what they depicted. That miserable shithead had captured on canvas the events of September 6, 1997, with true photographic precision; not the slightest detail had escaped him. Even the silly lettering and the stylized little pig on the dark green T-shirts were clearly visible. She bit her lips and the blood roared in her ears. Suddenly the memory came vividly alive. The humiliating feeling of defeat as well as the wild satisfaction at the sight of Laura, who finally got what she deserved. That damned arrogant slut! She looked at the other pictures, smoothing them out with both hands. Naked panic gripped her, just as it had then. Disbelief, bewilderment, cold rage. She straightened up and forced herself to take a deep breath. Three times, four. Be calm. Think it over. This was a disaster, it was the absolute maximum credible accident. It could completely destroy all her careful planning, and she couldn’t let that happen. With trembling fingers she lit a cigarette. It was unthinkable what would have happened if the cops got hold of these pictures. It made her queasy. What should she do now? Were these really all the pictures, or had Thies painted more? She couldn’t take the risk, there was too much at stake. Quickly she smoked the cigarette all the way down to the filter, and then she knew what to do. She’d already had to make all the decisions herself. With fierce determination she grabbed the scissors and cut the paintings, one after the other, into little pieces. Then she put them through the shredder, took out the sack of confetti, and grabbed her bag. This was no time to lose her nerve. Everything was going to be fine.

*   *   *

Detective Superintendent Kai Ostermann felt discouraged. He had to admit that the coded writing in Amelie’s diary was an insoluble riddle to him. At first he’d thought it would be easy to decipher the hieroglyphics, but now he was about to give up. He simply couldn’t see any system. Obviously she had used different symbols for the same letters, which made it almost impossible to crack the code. Behnke came in the door.

“Well?” Ostermann asked. Bodenstein had assigned Behnke to question Claudius Terlinden, who had been sitting in one of the detention cells since that morning.

“Refuses to say a word, that arrogant bastard.” In frustration Behnke sat down heavily on the chair behind his desk and clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s easy enough for the boss to say that I’m supposed to pin something on this guy—but what? I tried to provoke him, I was friendly, I threatened him—but he just sits there and smiles. What I’d really like to do is punch him in the mouth.”

“That probably wouldn’t do any good.” Ostermann sent his colleague a quick look. That got Behnke’s hackles up.

“You don’t have to remind me that I’m up shit creek!” he yelled, pounding his fist so hard on the desk that the keyboard jumped. “I’m starting to think the old man wants to harass me so much that I’ll quit!”

“That’s bullshit. Besides, he didn’t tell you to nail him. He just said to soften him up a little.”

“Precisely. Then he’ll waltz in here with his crown princess and make it look easy!” Behnke was red in the face with rage. “All I ever get to do is the shit work.”

Ostermann almost felt sorry for Behnke. He’d known him since the police academy; they’d done patrols together and both had joined the Special Assignment Unit until Ostermann lost his lower leg during a deployment. Behnke had stayed in the SAU a couple more years, then he was transferred to the criminal police in Frankfurt and landed right in K-11, in the very top echelon of the police hierarchy. He was a good cop. Or had been. Later, when everything went south in his private life, his work also suffered. Behnke rested his head in his hands and fell into a listless brooding.

Then the door flew open. Kathrin Fachinger marched in, her cheeks glowing with anger.

“Tell me, have you completely lost it?” she snapped at her colleague. “You leave me alone with that guy and just take off! What’s the deal here?”

“You always think you can do better than me, anyway!” Behnke said sarcastically. Ostermann was looking back and forth between the two combatants.

“We had a strategy,” Fachinger reminded her colleagues. “And then you just roar off. But just imagine, he did talk to me.” Her voice took on a triumphant undertone.

“Oh, that’s just great! Why don’t you run to the boss and tell him, you crazy bitch!”

“What did you say?” Fachinger loomed up before him, her hands on her hips.

“Crazy bitch is what I said!” Behnke repeated loudly. “And I’ll make it even plainer: You’re an ambushing, egotistical little bitch! You snitched on me, and I’m never going to forget it!”

“Frank!” Ostermann shouted, getting up.

“Are you threatening me?” Fachinger wasn’t about to let herself be intimidated. She gave a contemptuous laugh. “I’m not afraid of you, you … you blowhard! All you know how to do is talk big and let everyone else do the work! No wonder your wife left you. Who’d want to be married to somebody like you?”

Behnke had turned beet red. He clenched his fists.

“People!” Ostermann admonished them anxiously. “Just cool it!”

It was too late. Behnke’s long bottled up rage at his younger colleague went off like an explosion. He jumped up, knocked over his chair, and gave Fachinger a strong shove. She crashed against the cabinet, and her glasses flew onto the floor. Behnke deliberately stomped on them, crunching the shattered glass under the heel of his shoe. Kathrin got to her feet.

“Well,” she said with a cold grin. “That’s it for you, my dear colleague.”

Behnke totally flipped out. Before Ostermann could stop him, he threw himself at Kathrin and punched her in the face. Reflexively her knee shot up and hit him in the balls. With a stifled moan of pain Behnke hit the floor. At that moment the door opened, and Bodenstein appeared in the doorway. His gaze shifted from Fachinger to Behnke.

“Can somebody please tell me what’s going on here?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.

“He attacked me and knocked my glasses off,” said Kathrin Fachinger, pointing at the mangled glasses frames. “I was just defending myself.”

“Is that true?” Bodenstein looked at Ostermann, who raised his hands helplessly and, after a brief glance at his colleague huddled on the floor, nodded.

“Okay,” said Bodenstein. “I’ve had enough of this kindergarten. Behnke, get up.”

Frank Behnke obeyed. His face was contorted with pain and hatred. He opened his mouth, but Bodenstein didn’t let him speak.

“I thought you understood what Dr. Engel and I told you,” he said icily. “You’re suspended, effective immediately.”