Snow White Must Die (30 page)

They got in, and Pia started the engine and drove out from under the protective roof. Snow covered the windshield at once, and thanks to fine sensors the wipers started moving.

“I want to know which doctor treated Thies,” Bodenstein said pensively. “And whether the Terlindens really did go out to eat in Frankfurt on Saturday night.”

Pia just nodded. The encounter with Claudius Terlinden had left her with an ambiguous feeling. Normally she didn’t let herself be blinded so quickly by anyone, but the man had made a deep impression on her, and she wanted to figure out why.

*   *   *

Only the guard station was still manned when Pia entered police headquarters at nine thirty. By the time they’d reached Kelkheim the snow had turned to rain again, and despite his head wound Bodenstein had insisted on driving home by himself. Pia would have also preferred to call it a day. Christoph was no doubt already waiting for her, but she couldn’t get the meeting with Claudius Terlinden out of her mind. Besides, Christoph understood that she had to work late occasionally.

She walked through the empty corridors and stairwells to her office, switched on the light, and sat down at her desk. Christine Terlinden had given them the name of the doctor who’d been treating Thies for years. It was no surprise that it was Dr. Daniela Lauterbach; she was a longtime neighbor of the Terlindens and could be on the spot quickly in a crisis situation.

Pia typed in her password. Ever since she left Claudius Terlinden’s office she’d been going over and over the conversation in her mind, trying to recall every word, every sentence, all the subtle signals. Why was Oliver so convinced that Terlinden was mixed up in Amelie’s disappearance, while she wasn’t at all? Had the attraction that he’d exerted on her clouded her objectivity?

She entered Terlinden’s name in a search engine and got thousands of hits. In the next half hour she learned a good deal about his company and his family, as well as about Claudius Terlinden’s manifold social and philanthropic commitments. He was actively involved with dozens of foundations and supervisory boards and various associations and organizations. He had also funded scholarships for gifted young people from disadvantaged families. Terlinden did a lot for young people. Why? Officially he stated that as a person who had been particularly favored by fate he wanted to give something back to society. Definitely a noble sentiment, and one could find fault with that. But could there be something else behind it?

He claimed he had rejected Laura Wagner twice, when she had made explicit advances. Was that true? Pia clicked on the photos the search engine had found of him and studied the man who had aroused such strong feelings in her. Did his wife know that her husband was into young girls, and that’s why he dressed so youthfully? Had he done something to Amelie because she resisted his advances? Pia chewed on her lower lip. She simply didn’t want to believe it. Finally she logged off the Internet and entered his name in POLAS, the police computer search system. Nothing. He had no criminal record, had never been in trouble with the law. Suddenly her eyes fell on a link inserted at the lower right corner. She straightened up. On Sunday, November 16, 2008, at 1:15
A.M.
someone had reported Claudius Terlinden to the police. Pia pulled up the file on her screen. Her heart began to pound as she read it.

“Well, what do you know,” she murmured.

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

The alarm clock rang as it did every morning at exactly six-thirty, but for the past few days he hadn’t really needed to set the alarm. Gregor Lauterbach had been awake for a long time. The fear of Daniela’s questions had made it impossible for him to go back to sleep. Lauterbach sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was soaked with sweat and felt like he’d spent the night on a torture rack. He dreaded facing the countless appointments scheduled for the day. How was he supposed to concentrate while in the back of his mind this threat kept ticking like an insidious time bomb? Yesterday another anonymous letter had arrived in the office mail, the contents even more distressing than the first one:

I wonder if your fingerprints could possibly still be identified on the tire iron that you tossed in the cesspool? The police will find out the truth and then you’re in for it!

Who knew these details? Who was writing him these letters? And why now, after eleven years? Gregor Lauterbach got up and dragged himself into the bathroom. Bracing his hands on the washbasin, he stared at his unshaven, bleary-eyed face in the mirror. Should he call in sick? Make himself scarce until the storm gathering on the horizon blew over? No, impossible. He had to keep living as he always did. Under no circumstances could he let his resolve waver. His career ambitions didn’t need to end with the position of cultural minister; politically he could still achieve a lot more if he didn’t let himself be intimidated by shadows from the past. He couldn’t permit a single mistake, which in any case happened eleven years ago, to destroy his life. Lauterbach straightened his shoulders and gave his mirror image a determined look. Because of his job, means and opportunities that he’d never dared dream of were now at his disposal. And he was going to use them.

*   *   *

It was still dark when Pia rang the bell at the closed gate of the Terlinden estate. Despite the early hour it didn’t take long before the voice of Mrs. Terlinden spoke from the intercom. In a moment the gate opened as if by magic. Pia got back into the passenger seat of the plainclothes police car; Oliver was at the wheel. Followed by a patrol car and a tow truck they drove over the still virgin snow covering the winding drive. Christine Terlinden awaited them with a friendly smile at the front door, which under the circumstances was as misplaced as the polite greeting that Pia offered. At least for Mr. Terlinden it was not going to be a good morning.

“We’d like to speak with your husband.”

“I’ve already told him you were coming. He’ll be down shortly. Please come in.”

Pia merely nodded, while Oliver said nothing. She had phoned him yesterday and then spent another half hour talking with the acting district attorney, who refused to give her an arrest warrant, but approved a search warrant for Terlinden’s car and filed an application with the court. Now they stood in the imposing entry hall and waited. The lady of the house had vanished, and somewhere in a distant wing the dogs were barking.

“Good morning!”

Bodenstein and Kirchhoff looked up as Claudius Terlinden came down the stairs from the upper floor, impeccably dressed in suit and tie. This time the sight of him left Pia cold.

“You’re certainly the early birds.” He stood smiling before them without offering his hand.

“Where did the dent in the fender of your Mercedes come from?” asked Pia without any preamble.

“Excuse me?” Astonished, he raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then I’ll have to refresh your memory.” Pia didn’t take her eyes off him. “On Sunday a resident of Feldstrasse reported a hit and run, because someone had bashed into his car the night before. He had parked it in front of his house at ten minutes to midnight and happened to be standing on his balcony at 12:33 a.m. smoking a cigarette when he heard a crash. He could see the car belonging to the person who caused the crash and even the license plate: MTK-T 801.”

Terlinden didn’t say a word. His smile had vanished. Crimson was climbing up his throat and spreading over his face.

“The next morning the man got a phone call.” Pia explained that she had met the man, and then continued mercilessly. “A call from you. You offered to settle the whole matter with no bureaucracy, and consequently the man withdrew his complaint. Unfortunately, it was not deleted from the police computer.”

Claudius Terlinden stared at Pia with a stony expression.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, making an effort to control himself.

“You lied to us yesterday,” she replied with a charming smile. “Since I probably don’t need to tell you where Feldstrasse is, I will ask you once again: Did you drive past the Black Horse on your way back from your firm, or did you take the short cut across the field and along Feldstrasse?”

“What’s the meaning of all this?” Terlinden turned to Bodenstein, but he was silent. “What are you trying to imply?”

“That was the night Amelie Fröhlich disappeared,” Kirchhoff answered for Bodenstein. “She was last seen at the Black Horse about the time you drove by there on the way to your office, about ten thirty. Two hours later, around twelve thirty, you came back to Altenhain, and from a different direction—not the way you claimed.”

He stuck out his lower lip, squinting at her. “And from this you deduce that I waylaid the daughter of an employee, dragged her into my car, and murdered her?”

“Was that a confession?” Pia asked coolly.

To her annoyance Terlinden gave her an almost amused smile.

“By no means.”

“Then tell us what you did between ten thirty and twelve thirty. Or was it perhaps not ten thirty, but a quarter past ten?”

“It was ten thirty. I was in my office.”

“It took you two hours to put your wife’s jewelry in the safe?” Pia shook her head. “Do you think we’re stupid or what?”

The situation had shifted by a hundred and eighty degrees. Claudius Terlinden was in a jam, and he knew it. But he still kept his cool.

“Who did you have dinner with?” Pia asked. “And where?”

Silence. Then Pia remembered the cameras she had seen at the gate of the Terlinden company property, when she drove past on her way back from the Wagners.

“We could take a look at the footage from the surveillance cameras at the gate to your firm,” she suggested. “That way you could prove to us that you’re telling the truth about the timeline.”

“You’re very clever,” said Terlinden appreciatively. “I like that. Unfortunately the surveillance system has been down for four weeks now.”

“And the cameras at the entrance gate to your property?”

“They don’t record.”

“Well, then it looks pretty bad for you.” Pia shook her head in feigned regret. “You have no alibi for the time when Amelie disappeared. Your hands are scratched as if you’d been fighting with someone.”

“Aha.” Claudius Terlinden remained calm, raising his eyebrows. “So what now? Are you going to arrest me because I took another way home?”

Pia kept her eyes steadfastly fixed on him. He was a liar, possibly also a criminal, who knew perfectly well that her assumptions were much too vague to justify an arrest.

“You’re not under arrest, only temporarily detained.” She managed a smile. “And not because you took another way home, but because you lied to us. As soon as you give us a plausible, verifiable alibi for the time period in question, you may go.”

“Good.” Claudius Terlinden shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “But please no handcuffs. I’m allergic to nickel.”

“I assume you won’t try to escape,” Pia retorted dryly. “Anyway, our handcuffs are stainless steel.”

*   *   *

The phone on his desk rang just as he was leaving the office. Lars Terlinden was expecting an urgent callback from the derivatives broker at the Credit Suisse. With the broker’s help he had sold off a large part of the credit portfolio for this con man Mutzler before he appeared before a tribunal of the board of directors. He put down his briefcase and took the call.

“Lars, it’s me,” said his mother. He wished he could hang up.

“Please, Mother, leave me alone. I don’t have time right now.”

“The police arrested your father this morning.”

Lars felt himself turn cold, then hot.

“Better late than never,” he replied bitterly. “After all, he isn’t God—he can’t do whatever he likes in Altenhain just because he has more money than everybody else. Actually, he’s been getting away with his little charade for far too long.”

He went behind his desk and sat down in his armchair.

“How can you say that, Lars? Your father always wanted what was best for you.”

“Wrong,” said Lars coolly. “He only wanted what was best for him and for his firm. And back then he exploited the situation, the way he basically exploits every situation to his own advantage. He forced me into a job that I never wanted to do. Mother, believe me, I don’t give a shit what’s happening to him.”

Suddenly everything was closing in again. Why did his father have to meddle in his life? Especially now, when he needed all his energy and concentration to save his career and his future. Anger was boiling over inside him. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Images he had thought long forgotten were coming to his mind, unasked and unwanted, but he was powerless to stop the memories and the feelings that accompanied them. He knew that his father had been regularly fucking Laura’s mother, who used to work in the villa as housekeeper. They would retreat to one of the attic guest rooms when his mother wasn’t home. But that wasn’t enough for him. He also had to get the daughters of his serfs, as his employees and the whole town used to call them, into bed—
ius primae noctis,
the same as a feudal lord in the Middle Ages.

While his mother was going on about something in a self-pitying voice, Lars thought about that evening. He had come home from training sessions at the firm and in the hall almost ran into Laura. Her face swollen from crying, she had stormed past him and out the door. He hadn’t understood a thing back then, as he saw his father come out of the living room, stuffing his shirt back in his pants, his face flushed and his hair a mess. That swine!

At the time Laura had just turned fourteen. Only many years later did Lars accuse his father of sleeping with her, but he had denied everything. He said the girl had been in love with him, but he had rebuffed her overtures. And Lars had believed him. What seventeen-year-old wanted to think such things about his father? In retrospect he realized that he had doubted his father’s protestations of innocence. He had lied to him far too many times.