Snow White Must Die (27 page)

“On Saturday night I was with Jörg and Felix and a couple of other guys at Jörg’s uncle’s garage,” he whispered urgently. “First we drank some beer, then this Red Bull stuff with vodka in it. That really knocked me for a loop. When I woke up Sunday morning, I had a gigantic hangover and couldn’t remember a thing.”

Her eyes were very close to his, and she gazed at him intently.

“Hmm,” was all she said. He thought he knew what she was thinking.

“You don’t believe me,” he reproached her and shoved her off his lap. “You think that I … killed Amelie, like I did Laura and Stefanie back then! Am I right?”

“No! No, I don’t!” Nadia protested. “Why would you want to hurt Amelie? She wanted to help you.”

“That’s right. She did. I don’t understand it either.” He got up, leaned against the fridge, and ran his hand through his hair. “The fact is, I don’t remember anything between nine thirty in the evening and four o’clock Sunday afternoon. In theory I could have done it, and that’s what the cops think too. Plus, Amelie tried to call me umpteen times. And my father says I was brought home at one thirty in the morning by Dr. Lauterbach. She found me drunk at the bus stop in front of the church.”

“Shit,” said Nadia and sat down.

“You said it.” Tobias relaxed a little, reached for the cigarettes on the table, and lit one for himself. “The cops told me to stay available.”

“But why?”

“Because I’m a suspect, pure and simple.”

“But … but they can’t do that,” Nadia began.

“They can,” Tobias interrupted her. “They’ve done it before. And it cost me ten years of my life.”

He inhaled the smoke of the cigarette, staring past Nadia into the dim gray fog outside. The brief period of good weather was over, and November was showing its most unpleasant side. Heavy rain was pouring down the windowpanes from low-hanging black clouds. The Friedensbrücke spanning the Main river could only be seen as a silhouette.

“There must be somebody who knows the truth,” Tobias ruminated, reaching for his coffee cup.

“What are you talking about?” Nadia asked.

Tobias looked up. It irritated him that she seemed so calm and collected. “About Amelie,” he repeated, noticing that she briefly raised her eyebrows. “I’m sure that she found out something dangerous. Thies must have given her some pictures, but she didn’t tell me what they showed. I think somebody felt threatened by her.”

*   *   *

The tall gate with the gilded spikes on top in front of the Terlinden estate was closed, and no one opened it even after she rang several times. But the tiny camera with the blinking red light followed every move she made. Pia shrugged, signaling the results of her efforts to her boss, who was still in the car talking on the phone. She had already tried in vain to speak with Claudius Terlinden at his company. He wasn’t in his office because of personal problems, his secretary had informed her with regret.

“Let’s head over to the Sartorius place.” Oliver started the engine and backed up a ways to make a U-turn. “Terlinden isn’t going anywhere.”

They drove past the rear entrance to the Sartorius farm, which was swarming with officers. The search warrant had been approved without difficulty. Kathrin Fachinger had called Pia late last night to let her know. But the real reason for the call was to report on how things had gone with Internal Affairs. The leniency that Behnke had previously enjoyed was now over; even Bodenstein’s attempt at an intervention wouldn’t have changed matters. Since Behnke had not obtained authorization for his second job, he now had to expect disciplinary action, a reprimand in his personal file, and most probably a demotion. In addition, Dr. Engel had bluntly told him to his face that she would have him immediately suspended if he ever behaved inappropriately toward Kathrin Fachinger or threatened her in any way. Pia would never have filed an official complaint against Behnke. Was that a sign of cowardice or of loyalty to others on the force? Quite frankly, she admired her younger female colleague for having the courage to report a male colleague to the supervisory board. All of them had obviously underestimated Kathrin.

The usually deserted parking area in front of the Golden Rooster was now full of police vehicles. On the sidewalk across the street curious onlookers had gathered despite the rain. Six or seven older people who had nothing better to do. Bodenstein and Kirchhoff got out of the car. Using a scrub brush, Hartmut Sartorius was busy removing new graffiti from the façade of the former restaurant. A hopeless undertaking.
ATTENTION
, it said,
HERE LIVES A KILLER OF GIRLS
!

“You’re not going to get that off with soap,” Bodenstein told him. The man turned around. There were tears in his eyes. He was a picture of misery with his wet hair and soaked blue smock.

“Why won’t they leave us alone?” he asked in despair. “We were always good neighbors before. Our children played together. And now it’s nothing but hate!”

“Let’s go inside,” Pia suggested. “We’ll send over somebody to remove it.”

Sartorius dropped the scrub brush into the bucket. “Your people are turning everything in the place upside down.” His voice sounded accusatory. “The whole village has started talking again. What do you want with my son?”

“Is he home?”

“No.” He shrugged. “I don’t know where he went. I don’t know anything anymore.”

His gaze wandered past Kirchhoff and Bodenstein. All of a sudden, with a fury that surprised both of them, he grabbed the bucket and ran across the parking lot. Before their eyes he seemed to grow and became for a moment the man he once must have been.

“Get the hell out of here, you damned assholes!” he roared, and tossed the bucketful of hot soap suds across the street at the people who had gathered there. “Piss off, why don’t you? Leave us alone!”

His voice cracked; he was about to attack the rubberneckers when Bodenstein managed to grab his arm. The spurt of angry energy vanished as fast as it had appeared. Sartorius collapsed like a hot-air balloon that has opened its parachute valve and released all the air.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. A shaky smile flitted across his face. “But I should have done that long ago.”

*   *   *

When the evidence techs had finished searching the house, Hartmut Sartorius closed the rear entrance of the former restaurant and led Kirchhoff and Bodenstein into the big, rustically furnished dining hall, in which everything looked like it had simply been shut down for the midday break. There were chairs on the tables, not a speck of dust on the floor, and menus bound in fake leather were stacked neatly next to the cash register. The bar had been polished to a high gloss, the draft beer dispenser gleamed, and the bar stools were neatly lined up. Pia looked around and shivered. Time seemed to have stood still inside this place.

“I’m here every day,” said Sartorius. “My parents and grandparents ran both the farm and the Golden Rooster. I just can’t bring myself to change anything.”

He brought the chairs from a round table near the bar and motioned Bodenstein and Kirchhoff to take a seat.

“Would you like something to drink? Maybe a cup of coffee?”

“Yes, that would be nice,” Bodenstein said with a smile. Sartorius busied himself behind the bar, taking cups from the cupboard, putting coffee beans in the machine. Familiar movements he’d done a thousand times, which gave him a sense of security. As he worked he kept up a lively account of the old days, when he did the butchering and cooking, and pressed his own cider.

“People used to come here from Frankfurt,” he said with unmistakable pride in his voice. “Just to have our cider. And you wouldn’t believe how many people would show up! Upstairs, in the big hall, there were parties every week. Earlier, when my parents were alive, there were movies and boxing matches and God knows what all. People back then didn’t have cars and didn’t go to a different town to eat.”

Bodenstein and Kirchhoff exchanged a silent glance. Here, in his domain, Hartmut Sartorius was again the owner who had the welfare of his guests at heart, and who was incensed by the graffiti on the façade. He was no longer the stooped, humiliated shadow he had become due to circumstances. Only now did Pia comprehend the full scope of the loss that this man had suffered, and she felt a deep sympathy. She had wanted to ask him why he never moved away from Altenhain after those terrible events, but now this question seemed superfluous. Hartmut Sartorius was so solidly rooted in this village where his family had lived for generations, as solidly as the chestnut tree standing outside.

“You cleaned out the farmyard,” Bodenstein began the conversation. “That must have taken a lot of work.”

“Tobias did that. He wants me to sell everything. Actually he’s right, because we’ll never be able to make a go of it here. But the problem is, the property no longer belongs to me.”

“Who does it belong to?”

“We had to borrow a lot of money to pay Tobias’s legal bills,” Sartorius volunteered. “It was more than we could handle, especially since we had already gone into debt to put a new kitchen in the restaurant and pay for the tractor and other things. For three years I was still able to pay my bills, but then … people stopped coming. I had to close the place. If it hadn’t been for Claudius, we’d be out on the street today.”

“Claudius Terlinden?” Pia asked, pulling out her notebook. Suddenly she understood what Andrea Wagner had meant the other day when she said that she didn’t want to wind up like Sartorius. She would rather get a job than be dependent on Claudius Terlinden.

“Yes. Claudius was the only one who stood by us. He got us the lawyer and later he regularly visited Tobias in prison.”

“Aha.”

“The Terlinden family has lived in Altenhain as long as our family has. Claudius’s great-grandfather was the blacksmith in the village until he came up with an invention, which he used to set up a metalworking shop. Claudius’s grandfather expanded the family business and built that villa over by the woods,” Sartorius told them. “The Terlindens have always been socially minded. They’ve done a great deal for the village, and for their employees and families. They don’t have to keep doing that, but Claudius is always ready to listen. He’s willing to help anyone who’s in a jam. Without his support the organizations in the village wouldn’t have a chance. A couple of years ago he gave the volunteer fire department a new fire engine; he’s on the board of the local athletic club and sponsored the first- and second-string soccer teams. Yes, they can even thank him for the artificial turf.”

Lost in thought, Sartorius stared into space for a moment, but Bodenstein and Kirchhoff took care not to interrupt. After a pause Sartorius continued.

“Claudius even offered Tobias a job with his firm. Just until he finds something else. Lars was Tobias’s best friend. He used to come in and out of the house like a second son, and Tobias also felt completely at home at the Terlindens’.”

“Lars,” Pia said. “He’s mentally handicapped, isn’t he?”

“Oh no, not Lars.” Sartorius shook his head emphatically. “You’re thinking of Thies, the other brother. And he isn’t mentally handicapped. He’s autistic.”

Oliver, who had been extensively briefed on the old case by Pia, said, “If I remember correctly, at the time there was some suspicion directed at Claudius Terlinden as well. Didn’t your son tell you that Terlinden had something going on with Laura? If that’s the case, Tobias is probably not his favorite person.”

“I don’t think there was anything between Claudius and the girl,” Sartorius said after thinking it over. “Laura was pretty and a little wild. Her mother was the housekeeper at the Terlinden villa, so Laura went there often. She told Tobias that Claudius was pursuing her, probably to make him jealous. It hurt her feelings that he’d broken up with her. But Tobias was head over heels in love with Stefanie, so Laura no longer had a chance. Hmm, she was also of a whole different caliber, that Stefanie. Already a mature young woman, very beautiful and very self-assured.”

“Snow White,” said Pia.

“Yes, that’s what they called her after she got the part.”

“What part?”

“Oh, in a school play. The other girls were very jealous. After all, Stefanie was the new girl here, but she still got the coveted lead role in the drama club play.”

“But Laura and Stefanie were friends, weren’t they?” Pia asked.

“The two of them and Nathalie were all in the same class. They got along well and belonged to the same clique.” Sartorius was clearly thinking back to more peaceful times.

“Who was in that clique?”

“Laura, Nathalie, and the boys: Tobias, Jörg, Felix, Michael—I can’t remember the rest. When Stefanie came to Altenhain, she was quickly accepted into the group.”

“And Tobias broke up with Laura because of her.”

“Yes.”

“But then Stefanie broke up with
him
. Why did she do that?”

“I don’t know the exact reason,” Sartorius said with a shrug. “Who knows what goes on among the young people? Supposedly she’d fallen for her teacher.”

“For Gregor Lauterbach?”

“Yes.” His expression darkened. “They turned that into a motive at the trial. Tobias was supposed to be jealous of the teacher so he … killed Stefanie. But that’s utter nonsense.”

“So who got the lead role after Stefanie couldn’t play the part?”

“If I remember rightly, it was Nathalie.”

Pia shot Oliver a glance.

“Nathalie—who is now Nadia,” she said. “She always remained loyal to your son. Even to this day. Why?”

“The Ungers are our next-door neighbors,” said Sartorius. “Nathalie was like a little sister to Tobias. Later she was his best friend. She was … a pal. Rather tomboyish but not bitchy at all. She was game for anything. Tobias and his friends always treated her like a boy because she did everything with them. When they were even younger, she rode a moped, climbed trees, and joined in their fights.”

“To get back to Claudius Terlinden,” Bodenstein began, but at that moment Behnke marched in, followed by two more officers. They came through the restaurant’s back door, which was ajar. That morning Bodenstein had entrusted Behnke with leading the search of the house. He took up position in front of the table, his colleagues like two aides-de-camp on either side.