Snow White Must Die (40 page)

“So what else is new?” Henning said. “I’ll hurry.”

Bodenstein had finished his coffee.

“Come on,” he said to Pia. “Let’s get moving.”

*   *   *

Bodenstein remained sitting behind the wheel for a while when he pulled into the parking area in front of his parents’ estate. It was shortly after midnight and he was completely exhausted, but at the same time too wired even to think about going to bed. He had considered sending Felix Pietsch, Jörg Richter, and Michael Dombrowski home after the interview, but then the most important question of all occurred to him: Was Laura already dead when they threw her in the underground tank? The three men were silent for a long time. Suddenly it had dawned on them that it was no longer a matter of a rape or failing to help someone. They could be guilty of something far worse.

Pia had succinctly formulated the charges that might be filed against them: conspiring to cover up the death of an individual to conceal a felony. With that Michael Dombrowski broke down in tears. That was enough to constitute a confession for Bodenstein, and he had instructed Ostermann to prepare a warrant for their arrest. What the three had already told them was more than enough information. It had been years since Nadia von Bredow had contacted any friends from her youth. But shortly before Tobias was due to be released from prison, she had showed up in Altenhain and put major pressure on the three friends from the old days to keep their mouths shut. Since none of them were interested in having the truth come to light eleven years after the fact, they certainly would have continued to keep silent if another girl hadn’t vanished. The fact that they bore responsibility for the wrongful conviction of their friend had weighed upon their consciences all these years. Even when the witch hunt directed at Tobias had started up, cowardice and fear of the inevitable consequences had been too great for them to turn themselves in to the police. Jörg Richter hadn’t called up Tobias last Saturday simply out of old friendship. Nadia had asked him to invite Tobias that evening and encourage him to drink. And that confirmed Bodenstein’s fears. But what got him to thinking most was what Jörg Richter said when asked the question: Why would three grown men listen to Nadia von Bredow?

“Even eleven years ago there was something about her that could throw fear into us.” The others had nodded in agreement. “Nadia didn’t get to where she is by accident. When she wants something, she gets it. Never mind who loses.”

Nadia von Bredow had felt that Amelie Fröhlich was a threat and wanted to gain control over her. The fact that she wouldn’t hesitate to kill someone was not a good omen.

Deep in thought, Bodenstein sat in his car. What a day! First the discovery of Lars Terlinden’s body, then the fire in Thies’s studio, Hasse’s incredible admissions, the meeting with Daniela Lauterbach … Then he remembered that he was supposed to call her later, after she had told Christine Terlinden the bad news about her son’s suicide. He took out his cell phone and searched the inside pocket of his coat until he found the doctor’s business card. With heart pounding, Bodenstein waited to hear her voice. But in vain. He got her voicemail. After the beep he asked her to call him back at her convenience. He might have stayed sitting in his car if the coffee he’d drunk hadn’t been pressing on his bladder. It was time to go inside anyway. He glimpsed a movement out of the corner of his eye and nearly jumped out of his skin when somebody knocked on the window.

“Dad?” It was Rosalie, his eldest daughter.

“Rosi!” He opened the door and got out. “What are you doing here?”

“I just got off work,” she said. “But what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home?”

Oliver sighed and leaned against the car. He was dead tired and had no desire to talk about his problems with his daughter. All day long he’d been distracted from thinking about Cosima, but now the unbearable feeling of failure fell over him.

“Grandma told me that you slept here last night. What happened?” Rosalie gave him a worried look. In the dim glow of the single light her face looked ghostly pale. Why shouldn’t he tell her the truth? She was old enough to understand what was going on, and she’d find out sooner or later anyway.

“Last night your mother told me that she’s been seeing another man. As a result I preferred to sleep somewhere else for a few days.”

“What?” Rosalie’s face showed disbelief. “Why, that’s … No, that’s impossible.”

Her bewilderment was real, and Bodenstein was relieved to know that his daughter wasn’t a secret accomplice of her mother.

“Well,” he said with a shrug. “I couldn’t believe it at first either. It’s going to take me a while.”

Rosalie snorted and shook her head. But all at once every grown-up attitude fell away and she was again a little girl, completely overwhelmed by a truth that was just as incredible to her as it was to him. Oliver didn’t want to pretend that everything would soon be straightened out. Nothing would ever be the same between him and Cosima. The hurt that she’d caused him was too severe.

“Well, what now? I mean … how … how…” Rosalie broke off. Helpless. All at once tears were running down her face. Oliver took his sobbing daughter in his arms, kissing her hair. He closed his eyes and sighed. How he longed to be able to let his own tears flow—to cry about Cosima, about himself and his life.

“We’ll find a solution soon,” he murmured, stroking his daughter’s hair. “I have to digest it all first.”

“But why did she do it?” Rosalie sobbed. “I don’t understand it!”

They remained like that for quite a while, and then Oliver took her tear-stained face in his hands.

“Go home, my dear,” he said softly. “Don’t worry. Your mother and I will get this all straightened out somehow, okay?”

“But I can’t just leave you here alone, Papa. And … and soon it’ll be Christmas, and if you’re not there it won’t be a family celebration.” She sounded desperate and just like herself. Even when Rosalie was little she had felt responsible for everything that happened in her family and her circle of friends—and often took on more burdens than she could cope with.

“It’s still a few weeks till Christmas. And I’m not alone,” he assured her. “Grandpa and Grandma are there, Quentin and Marie-Louise. It’s not so bad.”

“But aren’t you sad?”

He had no reply.

“At the moment I have so much to do that I don’t have time to be sad,” he finally told her.

“Really?” Her lips quivered. “I can’t stand the thought of you being sad and alone, Papa.”

“Don’t worry. You can call me anytime or send me a text. But now you have to go to bed, and I do too. Tomorrow we’ll talk again, okay?”

Rosalie nodded unhappily and pulled herself together. Then she gave him a wet kiss on the cheek, hugged him one more time, got in her car and turned on the engine. He stood in the parking area and watched her go, until the taillights of her car disappeared in the woods. With a sigh he turned to go inside. Knowing that his children would still love him, even if his marriage broke up, filled him with both relief and solace.

Saturday, November 22, 2008

She sat up with a start. Her heart was pounding loudly, and with wide eyes she looked around, but it was as pitch dark as ever. What had woken her up? Had she really heard a noise or only dreamed it? Amelie stared into the dark and listened tensely. Nothing. She had only imagined it. With a sigh she got up from the musty mattress, grabbed her ankles, and massaged her cold feet. Even though she kept telling herself that they would find her, that she would survive this nightmare, she had secretly given up hope. Whoever had locked her in here never intended to let her out again. Until now Amelie had been able to ward off the recurring panic attacks. But now she was beginning to lose her courage, and she often simply lay there waiting for death. So many times she had told her mother,
I wish I was dead!
—but now she truly comprehended what she had uttered so thoughtlessly. She regretted bitterly how she had treated her mother out of spite and indifference. If only she came out of this alive, she would do everything, absolutely everything, differently. And better. No more talking back, no more running away or being ungrateful.

There had to be a happy ending. There always was. Most of the time, at least. She shuddered as she remembered all the newspaper stories and TV reports that did not have a happy ending. Dead girls buried in the woods, locked inside boxes, raped, tortured to death. Damn, damn, damn. She didn’t want to die, not in this shitty hole, in the dark, lonesome and alone. She wouldn’t starve very fast, but she could die of thirst. There was very little left to drink, so she was rationing the water to occasional sips.

Suddenly she gave a start again. She heard noises. She wasn’t imagining it. Footsteps outside the door. They were coming closer and closer, then stopped. A key turned with a screech in the lock. Amelie wanted to stand up, but her body was stiff with cold and from the dampness that had crept into her bones after so many days and nights of dark imprisonment. A piercing light fell into the room, illuminating it for a few seconds and blinding her. Amelie blinked but couldn’t see anything. Then the door closed again, the key turned with another screech, and the footsteps went away. Disappointment clutched at her and held her tight. No fresh water! Suddenly she thought she heard breathing. Was somebody else in the room? The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her heart pounded like mad. Who was it? Was it a person? An animal? Fear threatened to choke off her breathing. She pressed her back against the damp wall.

Finally she gathered her courage together and whispered hoarsely, “Who’s there?”

“Amelie?”

In disbelief she gasped for air. Her heart leapt for joy.

“Thies?” she whispered, feeling her way along the wall. It wasn’t easy to keep her balance in the dark, although she had tried to memorize every square inch of the room. With outstretched arms she took two steps and flinched when she touched a warm body. She heard his excited breathing as she grasped his arm. Instead of retreating Thies grabbed her hand and held on tight.

“Oh, Thies!” Suddenly Amelie could no longer hold back the tears. “What are you doing here? Oh Thies, Thies, I’m so happy! So happy!”

She flung her arms around him and gave her tears free rein. Her knees felt weak, so great was her relief, finally, finally, not to be alone. Thies let her hug him. In fact, all at once she noticed that he was hugging her too. Cautiously and unpracticed. But then he pulled her close and rested his cheek on her hair. And all of a sudden she was no longer afraid.

*   *   *

Again the cell phone woke him. This time it was Pia, that merciless early riser, telling him at twenty past six that Thies Terlinden had escaped from the psychiatric ward during the night.

“The doctor called me,” said Pia. “I’m here in the psych ward now, and I’ve spoken with the ward doctor and the night nurse. She looked in on him at eleven twenty-seven on her last round, and he was in bed asleep. When she looked the next time at five twelve, he was gone.”

“What’s their explanation?” Bodenstein was having a hard time getting out of bed. He’d had three hours of sleep at most, and he felt like he could barely move. First Lorenz had called him just as he’d fallen sleep. Then Rosalie, and it took him a great deal of effort to talk her out of getting in her car and coming over to see him. With a suppressed moan he finally succeeded in hauling himself into a vertical position. This time he reached the light switch by the door without running into anything.

“They can’t explain it. They searched the whole place and he wasn’t hiding anywhere. The door to his room was locked. It looks like he evaporated into thin air, the same as all the others. It’s enough to make me sick.”

There was no sign of Lauterbach or Nadia von Bredow or Tobias Sartorius, despite a nationwide APB in print, radio, and TV.

Bodenstein staggered into the bathroom, where during the night he had wisely turned up the heat and shut the window that had been open a crack. His face in the mirror was not a pleasant sight. As he listened to Pia talking, his thoughts kept churning. He had foolishly thought that Thies would be safe in the locked psych ward, but he should have known what danger he was in. He should have had a guard posted for Thies’s protection. This was Bodenstein’s second serious mistake in the past twenty-four hours. If things went on like this, he’d be the next one facing suspension. He said goodbye to Pia, pulled off his sweaty T-shirt and underpants and took a long shower. Time was running away from him. The whole case was threatening to slip out of his grasp. What did it all come down to, first and foremost? Where should he start? Nadia von Bredow and Gregor Lauterbach seemed to be the key figures in this tragedy. He had to find them.

*   *   *

Claudius Terlinden took the news of his son Lars’s suicide without a flicker of emotion. After four days and three nights in police custody, his relaxed charm had given way to stubborn silence. On Thursday his lawyer had already lodged a protest, but Ostermann managed to convince the judge there was a danger of possible obstruction of justice. They wouldn’t be able to detain him much longer unless there was conclusive evidence that he had no alibi for the time when Amelie disappeared.

“The boy was always too soft, his whole life,” was Terlinden’s only comment. With an open shirt collar, a three-day growth of beard, and straggly hair he had about as much charisma as a scarecrow. In vain Pia tried to recall what had been so fascinating about him.

“But you,” she said sarcastically. “You’re tough, right? You’re so tough that you don’t care about the consequences of all your lies and cover-ups. Lars committed suicide because he could no longer stand his guilty conscience. You stole ten years of Tobias Sartorius’s life, and you terrorized Thies to such an extent that he’s been looking after a dead girl for eleven years.”

“I never terrorized Thies.” Claudius Terlinden looked at Pia for the first time this morning. In his bloodshot eyes there was suddenly a vigilant expression. “And what dead girl are you talking about?”