Snow White Must Die (9 page)

Wouldn’t it be better if he accepted Nadia’s offer and moved in with her until he could get back on his feet? People didn’t want him in Altenhain, that was obvious. But he couldn’t just leave his father in the lurch. He was deeply indebted to his parents, who had never turned their backs on him, even when he was convicted of killing those two girls.

Tobias walked around the church and entered the vestibule. He gave a start when he noticed a movement to his right. In the weak glow of the streetlight he recognized a dark-haired girl, who was sitting on the arm of a wooden bench next to the entry portal and smoking a cigarette. His heart skipped a beat and he could hardly believe his eyes. Before him sat Stefanie Schneeberger.

*   *   *

Amelie was no less startled when a man suddenly entered the church. His jacket was wet and shiny, and his dark hair hung dripping wet into his face. She had never seen him before, but she knew at once who he was.

“Good evening,” she said, taking her iPod buds out of her ears. The voice of Adrian Hates, the leader of her absolute favorite band Diary of Dreams, squawked from the earbuds until she shut off the iPod. There was total silence except for the sound of the rain. A car drove by on the street below the church. For a split second the beams of its headlights flitted across the man’s face. Without a doubt, this was Tobias Sartorius. Amelie had seen enough photos of him online to recognize him. He actually looked rather nice. Attractive even. Not at all like the other guys in this dump of a town. And not at all like a murderer.

“Hello,” he answered at last, scrutinizing her with a peculiar expression. “What are you doing here so late?”

“Listening to music. Having a smoke. It’s raining too hard to walk home right now.”

“I see.”

“I’m Amelie Fröhlich,” she said. “And you’re Tobias Sartorius, aren’t you?”

“Yes I am. How do you know that?”

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“That’s no surprise, if you live in Altenhain.” His voice had a cynical ring to it. He seemed to be considering how to categorize her.

“I’ve lived here since May,” Amelie explained. “Actually I’m from Berlin. But I didn’t get along with my mother’s new boyfriend, so she sent me here to stay with my father and stepmother.”

“And they let you just run around like this at night?” Tobias leaned against the wall and looked her over carefully. “When a murderer has just come back to town?”

Amelie grinned. “I don’t think they’ve heard anything about that yet. But I have. I work evenings right over there.” She nodded in the direction of the restaurant located on the other side of the parking lot next to the church. “For the past two days you’ve been the main topic of conversation.”

“Where?”

“At the Black Horse.”

“Oh, right. That wasn’t here when I left.”

Amelie remembered that when the murders took place in Altenhain, Tobias Sartorius’s father ran the only restaurant in the village, the Golden Rooster.

“So what are you doing here this time of night?” Amelie dug a pack of cigarettes out of her backpack and held it out to him. He hesitated a moment and then took a cigarette and lit it with her lighter.

“I’m just walking around.” He braced his foot against the wall. “I was in the joint for ten years, where I couldn’t exactly do that.”

They smoked for a while in silence. Across the parking lot a couple of late customers were leaving the Black Horse. They heard voices and then the sound of car doors slamming. The sound of the engines moved off down the road.

“Aren’t you afraid at night, in the dark?”

“No.” Amelie shook her head. “I’m from Berlin. Sometimes I’ve squatted with a few pals in abandoned buildings slated for demolition, and we’d have trouble with the squatters who were already living there. Or with the law.”

Tobias exhaled the cigarette smoke through his nose.

“Where do you live?”

“In the house next to the Terlindens.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I know. Thies told me about it. That’s where Snow White used to live.”

Tobias froze.

“Now you’re lying,” he said after a while, his voice sounding different.

“No I’m not,” Amelie countered.

“Sure you are. Thies doesn’t talk. Ever.”

“He does with me. Every so often. He’s a friend of mine.”

Tobias took a drag on his cigarette. The light from the glowing tip lit up his face, and Amelie saw him raise his eyebrows.

“Not a boyfriend, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she was quick to add. “Thies is my best friend. My only friend.”

Sunday, November 9, 2008

The party for Countess Leonora von Bodenstein’s seventieth birthday was not held at the elegant Schlosshotel but in the indoor equestrian arena, although Bodenstein’s sister-in-law had protested vehemently. But the countess didn’t want anyone to make a big fuss over her, as she put it. Modest nature-lover that she was, she had expressly wished for a small celebration in the stables or the arena, so Marie-Louise von Bodenstein had acquiesced. She had handled all the arrangements for the “event” in her typical energetic and professional way, and the result was breathtaking.

Oliver and Cosima arrived at the Bodenstein estate with Sophia shortly after eleven, finding a parking spot only with difficulty. In the historic interior courtyard of the riding stable with the cobblestones and its carefully renovated half-timbered buildings there was not a straw to be seen, and the big stable door was standing wide open.

“My God,” Cosima remarked in amusement. “Marie-Louise must have coerced Quentin into putting in a night shift.”

The tall old stables, built around 1850, formed one side of the noble stable building of the count’s castle. Over the years it had accumulated a venerable patina of spiderwebs, dust, and swallow droppings—but all that had vanished. The horse stalls, the walls, and the high ceilings shone with fresh radiance; the mullioned windows had been polished to a sheen, and even the colors in the frescoes depicting scenes from the hunt had been freshened up. The horses, who were curiously watching the commotion in the wide stable aisle over the doors of their stalls, had had their manes braided in celebration of the day. In the entrance hall, lovingly decorated as if for a harvest thanksgiving feast, the waiters from the Schlosshotel were pouring champagne.

Oliver grinned. His younger brother Quentin was one of those comfortable sorts of people. He was a landowner who ran the estate and riding stables, and it didn’t bother him in the least if the tooth of time left its mark. He had increasingly turned over to his wife the responsibility for the restaurant up in the castle, and in recent years Marie-Louise had transformed it into a first-class Michelin-starred establishment, whose excellent reputation extended far beyond the local area.

They found the birthday girl amid the circle of family and well-wishers in the vestibule of the arena, which was also wonderfully decorated. Oliver was just about to wish his mother many happy returns when the hunting horn corps of the congenial Kelkheim Riding Club opened the program in the riding arena. The presentations were a surprise by the horse owners and riding students for their countess. Oliver exchanged a few words with his son Lorenz, who was filming the occasion with camera in hand. His girlfriend Thordis was responsible for the success of the dressage quadrille, the performance by the trick riding group, and she would later ride in the jumping quadrille. In the crowd Oliver ran into his sister Theresa, who had come especially for the celebration. They hadn’t seen each other in a long time and had much to talk about. Cosima had taken a seat with Sophia next to her mother, Countess Rothkirch, in the grandstand on one side of the riding arena and was following the dressage quadrille with interest.

“Cosima looks ten years younger,” said Oliver’s sister, sipping on her champagne. “I might get jealous.”

“A baby and a good husband work wonders,” Oliver replied with a grin.

“Self-righteous as always, little brother,” Theresa teased him back. “As if you men have anything to do with why a woman looks good!”

She was two years older than Oliver and was bubbling over with energy, as usual. Her elegantly proportioned face was striking rather than beautiful, and the first gray strands mixed in with her dark hair did nothing to diminish her radiance. She had worked hard for each wrinkle and gray hair, she once said. Her husband had been taken from her too soon, struck down by a heart attack, leaving her with an ailing coffee-roasting business in Hamburg, a family castle in Schleswig-Holstein that needed a lot of work, and several properties mortgaged to the hilt in Hamburg’s best neighborhoods. Promoted to administrator of the company after her husband’s death, and despite raising three children and facing a dim outlook for the future, she had energetically taken the reins and fearlessly dived into the fray against creditors and the banks. Now, after ten years of hard work and shrewd dealings, both the firm and private property had been saved and restored. Not one employee’s position had been lost, and Theresa enjoyed the utmost respect from her staff and business partners.

“Apropos men,” Quentin put in. “How’s it going with you, Esa? Any news?”

She smiled. “A lady takes her pleasure and keeps her mouth shut.”

“Why didn’t you bring him along?”

“Because I knew that you would pounce on the poor guy and dissect him mercilessly.” She then nodded in the direction of her parents and the rest of the relatives, who were spellbound as they watched the action in the arena. “And the whole clan too.”

“So there is somebody,” Quentin persisted. “At least tell us something about him.”

“No.” She held out her empty glass to her younger brother. “Why don’t you see about getting us a refill?”

“Why is it always me?” Quentin complained, but obeyed out of long habit and left.

“Are you and Cosima having problems?” Theresa asked, turning to Oliver. He gave his sister a startled look.

“No. Why would you think that?”

She shrugged but didn’t take her eyes off her sister-in-law. “Something is different between the two of you.”

Oliver knew his sister’s infallible intuition. There was no point in lying that he and Cosima were not getting along.

“Well, last summer after our silver anniversary we had a small crisis,” he admitted. “Cosima had rented a finca on Mallorca and wanted to spend three weeks there with the whole family. After a week I had to leave, because a difficult case came up. She took offense at that.”

“Aha.”

“She accused me of leaving her all alone with Sophia, even though that wasn’t the original plan. But what could I do? I can’t just switch gears to be a full-time parent and play the househusband!”

“But you should be able to manage three weeks of vacation,” Theresa replied. “I don’t want to meddle, but you
are
an official. In your absence wouldn’t there be someone to cover for you?”

“Do I hear a hint of contempt for my profession in your voice?”

“Don’t be so touchy, dear,” his sister tried to mollify him. “But I can understand why Cosima was angry. She has a job too, and doesn’t really fit the traditional kids-kitchen-church role, in which you, the old macho man, would prefer to cast her. Maybe you’re even happy that she doesn’t go off on expeditions anymore and you have her completely under your thumb.”

“That’s not true at all,” Oliver countered, looking upset. “I have always supported her in her work. I think what she’s doing is very admirable.”

Theresa looked at him, and a mocking smile spread across her face. “Nonsense. You can say that to everyone else, but not to me. I’ve known you too long.”

Feeling caught, Oliver said nothing. His eyes wandered over to Cosima. As usual, his big sister had effortlessly succeeded in putting her finger on the sore point. She was right this time too. He was actually relieved that since Sophia was born, Cosima was no longer going off for weeks at a time to travel all over the world . But he didn’t like hearing it from his sister.

Quentin returned with three glasses of champagne, and their conversation drifted to other, less charged topics. After the riding demonstrations were over, Marie-Louise opened the buffet that her coworkers had set up in the anteroom of the stables. People began moving toward the inviting-looking cocktail tables, the long rows of tables with white tablecloths and benches with comfortable cushions, and the arrangements of fall flowers. Oliver ran into relatives and old acquaintances he hadn’t seen in a long time; there was plenty to talk and laugh about. The mood was relaxed. He saw Cosima talking with Theresa and hoped that his sister wasn’t inciting her against him with some of her feminist slogans. Next year Sophia would be starting daycare, and then Cosima would have more time to herself. She was working on a new film project that took up a lot of her time. In a sudden urge of goodwill Oliver resolved to start coming home earlier and to keep weekends free to give Cosima a respite from all the childcare. Maybe then the tension would ease that had existed between them ever since the big fight on Mallorca.

“Dad.” Rosalie tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see his older daughter. She was studying to be a chef at the Schlosshotel with Jean-Yves St. Clair, the star French chef. Today she was in charge of the buffet. She was holding Sophia by the hand. The child was smeared with a brownish substance from top to toe, and Oliver hoped it wasn’t what it looked like.

“I can’t find Mom,” Rosalie said, agitated. “Maybe you could change the little princess. Mama must have some spare clothes for her in the car.”

“What’s that all over her face and hands?” Oliver managed to free his long legs from under the table.

“Don’t worry, it’s only chocolate mousse,” said Rosalie. “I have to get back to work.”

“Okay, come over here, little piggie.” Oliver grabbed his younger daughter and took her in his arms. “Look what a mess you are.”

Sophia braced her little hands against his chest and started thrashing about. She couldn’t stand having her freedom of movement restricted. With her little peach cheeks, soft dark hair, and cornflower-blue eyes she looked good enough to eat, but it was all an illusion. Sophia had inherited Cosima’s temperament and knew how to get her way. Oliver carried her out the stable door and crossed the courtyard. He happened to glance to the left through the open door to the smithy and to his astonishment saw Cosima pacing back and forth with her cell phone to her ear. The way she was running her hand through her hair, cocking her head and laughing, surprised him. Why did she have to go outside to make a call? Before she could catch sight of him he hurried on, but a faint feeling of suspicion remained deep inside him like a tiny barb.