Bad Wolf (43 page)

*   *   *

Louisa fell asleep at eight-thirty. She’d stopped asking for Florian, and Emma made an effort not to resent what she’d said. Common sense told her that it was normal for a five-year-old to ask for her papa. If she were at Florian’s house, she’d probably want to be with Emma. But deep in her heart, she was insulted and hurt at being so blatantly rejected. She’s a little kid, Emma tried to convince herself, and she’s confused and frightened after being in the hospital. She associates her father with laughter, eating ice cream, playing, and cuddling, and her mother with strict rules and everyday life.

But no matter how reasonably Louisa’s behavior might be explained, it was simply unfair the way Florian had bought and won his daughter’s love with his sporadic visits. Emma was the one who had always been there for the child, ever since she was born. She had massaged Louisa’s little tummy when she had screamed almost nonstop for the first three months of her life; she had rubbed salve on the child’s gums when her first teeth were coming in. She had consoled and cared for Louisa, wrapping her in a blanket and carrying her around. Night after night, she had rocked her daughter to sleep, sung songs or read stories to her, given her a bottle, and played with her for hours. And this was the thanks she got!

Emma clasped her hands around the cup of tasteless jasmine tea. She’d been drinking so much tea that it was practically coming out of her ears. Her desire for a strong cup of black coffee, a wonderful bittersweet espresso, or a glass of wine had even started haunting her dreams—when she was able to sleep, that is. She was so exhausted, so unbelievably tired. How she longed to be able to sleep ten hours at a stretch again without the constant worry about her daughter’s welfare. But in less than two weeks, a second child would demand her full attention, and then she’d really exhaust all of her physical and mental strength. Nature hadn’t arranged things that way by accident, making a woman’s body most receptive in her early twenties. The older she got, the more frayed her nerves. She was simply too old to have two little children whom she would now have to raise without the support of a husband.

The day after tomorrow, she would have to face him. Florian would definitely show up for his father’s birthday party. Emma pushed away the thought of this confrontation. She had been stuck inside all day because Louisa had refused to leave her room. Now that the girl was sleeping soundly, she would allow herself a short walk in the fresh air to stretch her legs.

Emma turned on the baby monitor and went downstairs. At the front door, she took a deep breath. It was already almost dark. The mild air was filled with the overpowering fragrance of lilacs. She slipped off her Crocs and carried them as she walked barefoot through the damp grass, which felt like a lush carpet. Her nerves were calming down with each step she took; she straightened her shoulders and tried to breathe evenly. She didn’t want to go far, only to the fountain that stood in the middle of the grounds, even though Louisa certainly wouldn’t wake up before seven in the morning. Emma reached the fountain, sat down on the edge, and dipped her hand in the water, which was still warm from the sun. At the edge of the woods, frogs croaked and crickets chirped.

Emma checked the baby monitor out of habit, but of course she was beyond the range of the wireless connection. She recalled how vehemently Florian had opposed using this device. The radiation that the baby would be exposed to was harmful, he claimed. Just like he believed that modern diapers caused rashes and eczema because they didn’t let in any air.

Funny. Why did she only think of negative things when she thought about her husband? Suddenly, a loud bang ripped through the idyllic silence, followed by shrill screams. Emma jumped up and ran back toward the house. But the angry-sounding voice was coming from the direction of the three bungalows. It was Corinna! Emma stopped behind a boxwood hedge and looked over toward the houses. The Wiesners’ bungalow was lit up brightly, and Emma saw, to her astonishment, that her in-laws were sitting on the couch in the living room. Sarah, Nicky, and Ralf were also there. Emma had never seen her friend Corinna look so furious. Of course she couldn’t hear what she was saying, because the terrace door was closed, but she saw that Corinna was yelling at Josef. Ralf put his hand on her shoulder in a placating gesture. She shook it off indignantly but lowered her voice. Emma stared at the scene, which looked like a stage set. She couldn’t make sense of it. Corinna, Josef, and Renate were normally in total agreement. What could be the reason for this obvious ill will? Had something happened? Renate stood up and left the living room. Then Nicky got involved. He said something, then hauled off and slapped Corinna so hard that she staggered. Emma gasped in shock. At that moment, Renate appeared on the terrace and marched straight toward her. Just in time, Emma ducked behind the hedge. When she looked back at the Wiesners’ house, everyone had left the living room except for Josef, who sat bent forward on the sofa, his face buried in his hands. Exactly the way Emma had seen him sitting at his desk today, after she accidentally caught Corinna arguing with him. How could she treat her father that way? And why did Ralf sit idly by when Nicky slapped his wife? Emma couldn’t make sense of this strange behavior. Maybe everyone’s nerves were frazzled before the big party the day after tomorrow. Even Corinna was only human, after all.

*   *   *

During his stay in Holland, Kilian Rothemund had left his cell phone turned off most of the time. Although he had missed the swift development of modern telecommunications while he was in prison, he was well aware that his wireless cell phone could be located by GPS, even when the roaming function was switched off. He wasn’t that familiar with Internet cafés, Wi-Fi in hotels, and such things, but under no circumstances was he going to leave a trail to the two men who had met with him only after taking the strictest security precautions. The explosive nature of what they had told him and the material they had handed over to him was enormous. Since Kilian had seen his photo in the top-circulated Dutch daily
De Telegraaf,
he knew that he was the object of an international manhunt. Although he spoke no Dutch, he could read it reasonably well. The search was on for the previously convicted sex offender Kilian Rothemund, but the reason was never mentioned.

One of his trailer park clients had sent him a text and told him that the police had searched his trailer on Sunday and were looking for him. From Bernd, he learned that Leonie Verges was dead. Somebody had tortured her to death in her house in the most gruesome manner. He should have been shocked, but he wasn’t. He had seen Leonie last Saturday at Bernd’s place. She had claimed that Hanna, despite all the warnings, didn’t appreciate the seriousness of the situation and had blabbed about something. Kilian had defended Hanna, but he secretly had some doubts about her loyalty. She hadn’t been in touch with him since Thursday, by text or e-mail or phone. He and Leonie had been talking for over an hour when she had said in a spiteful voice that it served Hanna right, what had happened to her. Kilian was flabbergasted when she told him that Hanna had been attacked and raped on Thursday night and since then had been in the hospital. The indifference with which she’d relayed the events had been the last straw for Kilian. They wound up in a terrible argument. Then he jumped on his motor scooter and rode off in the night toward Langenhain, hoping to meet Hanna’s daughter there and learn more from her, but the house had been quiet and dark.

Kilian no longer knew if what he’d learned in Holland would still have any significance. They had stuck their hands in a hornet’s nest, and the hornets had attacked brutally: Leonie was dead, Hanna lay gravely injured in the hospital, and he was being pursued by the police. Bernd had decided not to tell Michaela about any of this, because no one could tell how she would react to the awful news.

Kilian had spent hours thinking about why his picture had been printed in a Dutch newspaper with a request for information. Did somebody know that he’d gone to Amsterdam, or had it appeared because a press release had been sent to all the major European papers?

Toward noon, he’d made a decision to send the highly volatile material from his conversations in Holland to Germany by mail, in the event that he was apprehended on the way home. He bought a padded envelope and thought long and hard about where to send the package before he addressed it and took it to the post office. Then he sat in a café near the Amsterdam main station waiting for his train, which was due to depart at 7:15
P.M.
Five minutes before departure, he paid for the two coffees and piece of cake he’d consumed, took his bag, and headed for the platform.

He was expecting the police to be waiting for him on his arrival in Frankfurt, but not in Amsterdam. As if out of nowhere, men in black riot gear suddenly appeared and blocked his way. One of them held up an ID in front of his face and told him in his best German that he was under arrest. Kilian offered no resistance. Sooner or later, they would extradite him to Germany, and then he’d finally have the proof in his hands that until now had always eluded him: powerful, explicit proof and a whole list of names. The organization had as many heads as a hydra, and they grew back as soon as they were cut off. But with the information he now possessed, he could severely weaken these perverse, unscrupulous bastards and at the same time clear his name and redeem himself. A few days in a Dutch jail didn’t scare him.

*   *   *

The first calls with tips came in even before the broadcast was over. Yet probably the most important call wasn’t to the studio of
Germany’s Most Wanted,
but to Kai Ostermann, and it got the whole team buzzing with excitement. It was ten after eleven when Pia dialed Bodenstein’s number, and he picked up at once.

She sat down on the steps by the watch room, lit a cigarette, and gave him the details, keeping her report short and sweet. A woman had called in to say that she’d seen the dead girl in Höchst in early May on Emmerich-Josef-Strasse. She had just gotten home and was loaded down with shopping bags as she looked for her keys at her front door. A young blond girl with eyes wide in panic came running up to her and in broken German pleaded for help. Only seconds later, a silver car stopped at the curb and a man and woman got out. The girl had cowered in the entryway to the house, holding her arms protectively over her head—a picture of misery. The couple had explained to the witness that their daughter was mentally ill and suffered from delusions. They had apologized politely, and then disappeared with the girl, who had climbed into the car without protest. When asked why she hadn’t called the police about this earlier, the woman replied that she’d been on a three-week cruise since early June and had forgotten about the incident until this evening, when she saw the photo of the dead girl from the river. She was 100 percent certain that it was the same girl who had begged her for help, and she promised to come to the station the next day to make a statement.

“Well, that sounds very promising,” said Bodenstein. “Now you should see about going home. I’m taking the seven o’clock flight tomorrow morning and will be in the office no later than eight-thirty.”

They said good-bye and Pia put away her phone. It took a huge effort of will to get up from the step and drag herself to the car, which was of course parked in the spot farthest away.

“Pia! Wait a minute!” Christian Kröger called behind her. She stopped and turned around. Her colleague came striding toward her, and she asked herself not for the first time whether he was actually human or some sort of vampire who didn’t need any sleep. He, too, had been on his feet since dawn, and for the past few nights he’d hardly slept at all, and yet he seemed wide awake.

“Listen, Pia, something’s been going around in my head all day,” he said as he accompanied her across the scantily lit parking lot between the buildings of the Regional Criminal Unit and the street. “Maybe it’s only a coincidence, but maybe not. You remember the car that Leonie Verges’s neighbor spotted several times near her house?”

“You mean Prinzler’s Hummer?” Pia said.

“No, the other car. The silver station wagon. You wrote down the license number,” Christian replied impatiently. “I found out the car is registered to the Sonnenkinder Association in Falkenstein.”

“Yeah, so?”

“State Attorney Markus Maria Frey is on the board of the Finkbeiner Foundation, which runs the organization.”

“I know,” Pia said with a nod, still standing by her car.

“Did you also know that he was a foster child of Dr. Josef Finkbeiner?” Christian gave her an expectant look, but Pia’s mental faculties had reached their limit for the day. “He studied law on a scholarship from the Finkbeiner Foundation.”

“Yeah, so? What are you getting at?”

Christian Kröger was the type of person who collected tons of odd and abstruse information that he kept stored away in his brain, ready to be called up at any moment. He never forgot anything he’d ever heard. This gift was sometimes a real burden for him, because people he knew often had a hard time following his thought process.

“People like Frey frequently get involved in social issues.” Pia almost dislocated her jaw with a yawn, and her eyes filled with tears from fatigue. “So the fact that he’s a board member of the foundation set up by his own foster father, to whom he remains closely linked for several reasons, isn’t really so strange, is it?”

“Yes, I guess you’re right.” Christian frowned. “It was just a thought.”

“I’m dead tired,” Pia said. “Let’s talk about this again tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Good night, then.”

“Yeah, good night.” Pia unlocked the car and got in behind the wheel. “By the way, you ought to get some sleep, too.”

“Are you worried about me?” Christian cocked his head and grinned.

“Naturally.” Pia picked up on his light flirtatious tone. “You know you’re my favorite colleague.”

“I always thought it was Bodenstein.”

“He’s my favorite boss.” She started the engine, put the car in reverse, and waved to him. “See you tomorrow!”