by Nele Neuhaus
In the flesh, she seemed quite different from the tough politician that Bodenstein knew only from TV. More feminine, prettier, and, yes, unexpectedly sexy. Although she wasn’t really his type of woman, he felt attracted to her at first sight. Before she could even extend her hand, Bodenstein had already undressed her with his eyes and imagined her naked. His indecent thoughts embarrassed him, and he almost blushed under the searching gaze from her blue eyes. She was also assessing him, and she seemed to like what she saw.
“My mother has told me a lot about you. I’m happy to finally meet you in person.” She smiled earnestly, taking Bodenstein’s hand and holding it a moment longer than necessary. “Even though the circumstances are sad.”
“Actually, I’d like to speak with your mother briefly.” Bodenstein made a concerted effort to suppress the internal upheaval that the sight of her had triggered in him. “But your brother told me that she is indisposed.”
“Anita was Mama’s oldest friend.” Jutta Kaltensee released his hand and sighed, looking concerned. “The events of the past few days have really taken a toll on her. I’m getting seriously worried about her. Mama is no longer as robust as she might seem. Who would do such a thing?”
“In order to find out, I’m going to need your help,” Bodenstein said. “Would you have a moment to answer a few questions for me?”
“Of course,” said Siegbert and Jutta Kaltensee in unison. Quite unexpectedly, their brother Elard awoke from his state of listless brooding. He got up, set the empty glass on a little side table, and directed his bloodshot gaze at his siblings, who were both a head shorter than he was.
“Did you know that Goldberg and Schneider were in the SS?” Elard said.
Siegbert Kaltensee reacted with only a brief raise of his eyebrows, but Bodenstein thought he saw an expression of shock on his sister’s face.
“Uncle Jossi a Nazi? Nonsense.” She laughed incredulously and shook her head. “What are you talking about, Elard? You’re not drunk, are you?”
“I haven’t been more sober in years.” Seething with hatred, Elard Kaltensee stared first at his sister, then at his brother. “Maybe that’s why I’m so upset. I can stand this hypocritical family only when I’m drunk.”
Jutta was obviously embarrassed by her elder brother’s behavior. She gave Bodenstein an apologetic look and smiled.
“They both had blood-type tattoos, as was customary in the SS,” Elard Kaltensee went on with a gloomy expression. “And the longer I think about it, the more sure I am that it’s the truth. Especially Goldberg, who—”
“Is that true?” Jutta asked, looking at Bodenstein.
“Yes, it’s true,” he confirmed. “The tattoos were discovered during the autopsies.”
“That just can’t be!” She turned to her brother Siegbert, grabbing his hand as if seeking refuge with him. “I mean, with Herrmann it wouldn’t surprise me, but never Uncle Jossi.”
Elard Kaltensee opened his mouth to protest, but his brother beat him to it.
“Have you found Robert?” Siegbert asked.
“No, we haven’t tracked him down yet.” Following a vague hunch, Bodenstein didn’t mention the brutal murder of Monika Krämer to the Kaltensees. He had noticed that Elard Kaltensee hadn’t bothered to ask about Watkowiak.
“Oh, Mr. Kaltensee,” he said, turning to the professor. “When and from whom did you learn of the death of Anita Frings?”
“My mother got a call this morning,” replied Elard. “Around seven-thirty. Apparently, Anita had disappeared from her room. A couple of hours later, we got the news that she was dead.”
Bodenstein was astounded by this honest answer. Either the professor didn’t have enough presence of mind to lie or he was truly guileless. Maybe Pia Kirchhoff was mistaken and the Kaltensees had nothing whatsoever to do with the old lady’s disappearance.
“How did your mother react?”
Elard Kaltensee’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the display and his expression instantly livened up.
“Please excuse me,” he said. “I have to go to the city. An important appointment.”
And then he left without saying good-bye or shaking hands. Jutta watched him go with a shake of her head. “He goes for girls that are barely half his age—but they tend to wear him out,” she remarked derisively. “After all, he’s no longer the youngest guy in the room.”
“Elard is going through an identity crisis at the moment,” explained Siegbert Kaltensee. “Please forgive his behavior. Ever since he was made professor emeritus six months ago, he’s fallen into a deep funk.”
Bodenstein studied the siblings, who despite their age difference seemed to be very close. Siegbert Kaltensee was difficult to read. Attentive, almost excessively polite—and he gave no clue as to his real feelings about his older brother.
“When did you find out about Mrs. Frings’s death?” asked Bodenstein.
“Elard called me about ten-thirty.” Siegbert frowned at the memory. “I was in Stockholm on a business trip and caught the next plane home.”
His sister sat down on a chair, took a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her blazer, lit one, and inhaled deeply.
“Bad habit.” She winked at Bodenstein conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell my voters about it. Or my mother.”
“I promise.” Bodenstein nodded and smiled at her. Siegbert Kaltensee poured himself a bourbon and also offered Bodenstein a drink, which he once again refused.
“Elard sent me a text message about it,” said Jutta. “I was in a plenary session and had turned off my cell.”
Bodenstein strolled over to a sideboard to look at a number of family photos in silver frames.
“Are there any suspects? Do you have any idea who could have committed the three murders?” Siegbert Kaltensee asked.
Bodenstein shook his head. “Unfortunately, we don’t,” he said. “You knew the three of them well. Who would gain from their deaths?”
“No one at all,” Jutta Kaltensee said, puffing on her cigarette. “They’ve never harmed a living soul. Of course, I remember Uncle Jossi only as an old man, but he was always very nice to me. He never forgot to bring me a present,” she mused with a smile.
“Do you remember that gaucho saddle, Berti?” she asked her brother. He made a face at the mention of his childhood nickname.
“I think I was eight or nine and could hardly lift the thing. But my pony had to bear it.…”
“You were ten,” Siegbert Kaltensee said, correcting his younger sister with affection. “And I was the first to carry you through the living room wearing that saddle—not your pony.”
“That’s right. My big brother always did anything I wanted.”
The emphasis was on the word anything. She exhaled cigarette smoke through her nose and gave Bodenstein a smile that conveyed more than idle curiosity. He suddenly felt hot.
“Occasionally,” she added without taking her eyes off him, “I have that sort of effect on men.”
“Jossi Goldberg was a very congenial and friendly person,” Siegbert Kaltensee now commented as he went over to join his sister, holding a glass of bourbon in his hand. The two took turns speaking and gave a completely different picture of Goldberg and Schneider than Elard had done. Everything they said sounded quite natural, and yet Bodenstein felt like a spectator at a play.
“Herrmann and his wife were very dear people.” Jutta Kaltensee stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray. “Really. I liked them a lot. I first got to know Anita in the late eighties. I was very surprised that in his will my father had left her a share in the company. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much about her.”
She stood up.
“Anita was our mother’s oldest friend,” Siegbert Kaltensee added. “They’d known each other since they were little girls, and they never lost contact, although Anita lived in East Germany until the Wall came down.”
“I see.” Bodenstein picked up one of the framed photos and looked at it thoughtfully.
“My parents’
wedding photo.” Jutta Kaltensee came up next to him and picked up another picture. “And here … Oh, Berti, did you know that Mama had framed this one?”
She grinned with amusement, and her brother smiled, too.
“That was after Elard graduated,” he explained. “I hate that picture.”
Bodenstein could see why. Elard Kaltensee was about eighteen in the photo. He was tall, slim, and good-looking in a dark sort of way. His younger brother seemed like a little round piglet in the picture, with sparse, colorless hair and fat cheeks.
“That’s me on my seventeenth birthday.” Jutta tapped on another picture and glanced at Bodenstein. “Slender and sylphlike. Mama dragged me to the doctor back then because she thought I was anorexic. Unfortunately, I have no proclivities in that direction.”
She ran both hands over her hips and giggled. Bodenstein could find no fault with her curves. In astonishment, he realized that with this casual gesture she had succeeded in directing his attention to her body, as if she knew what he was imagining at the sight of her. Bodenstein was still wondering whether she’d done this on purpose as she pointed to another photo. Jutta and a young woman with black hair, both in their mid-twenties, were beaming at the camera. “My best friend, Katharina,” she explained. “And that’s Kati and me in Rome. Everybody called us ‘the twins’ because we were inseparable.”
Bodenstein looked at the picture. Jutta’s friend looked like a photo model. Next to her, the younger version of Jutta seemed like a gray mouse. Bodenstein tapped on another photo, which showed a youthful Jutta with a man of about the same age. “Who’s that next to you?” he asked.
“Robert,” replied Jutta. She was standing so close to Bodenstein that he could smell her perfume and a hint of cigarette smoke. “We’re exactly the same age; I’m only a day older. That always bothered Mama a lot.”
“Why?”
“Just think about it.” She looked at him; her face was so close to his that he could make out the dark speckles in her blue eyes. “My father got her and another woman pregnant almost on the same day.”
The candid mention of this highly intimate information embarrassed Bodenstein. Jutta seemed to notice and smiled suggestively.
“I’d be inclined to suspect Robert, by the way,” Siegbert Kaltensee interjected. “I know that he was always trying to tap our mother and her friends for money, even after I told him he was banned from the house.”
Jutta put back the framed pictures.
“He has totally let himself go,” she said regretfully. “He doesn’t even have a permanent place to live anymore, not since he got out of prison. It’s sad that he’s sunk so low; he really had all the opportunities in the world.”
“When was the last time you spoke with him?” Bodenstein asked. The Kaltensees looked at each other before replying.
“It’s been quite a while,” Jutta finally said. “I think it was during my latest campaign. We had a stand on the pedestrian mall in Bad Soden, and all of a sudden he was standing in front of me. At first, I didn’t recognize him.”
“Didn’t he ask you for money?” Siegbert Kaltensee gave a contemptuous snort. “All he ever talked about was money, money, money. I never saw him again after I threw him out. I think he realized that he wasn’t going to get anything from me.”
“They took the investigation in the Goldberg case away from us,” Bodenstein said now. “And today, Mrs. Frings’s apartment was cleaned out before we could have a look around.”
The Kaltensee siblings stared at him, clearly baffled by the abrupt change of subject.
“Why would anyone clean out her apartment?” Siegbert asked.
“I have a feeling somebody is trying to block the investigation.”
“Who would want to do that?”
“Well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? I don’t know.”
“Hmm,” said Jutta, looking at him thoughtfully. “Anita wasn’t rich, of course, but she did have some jewelry. Maybe it was somebody from the retirement home. Anita had no children, and they must have known that.”
Bodenstein had briefly considered that idea himself. But that wouldn’t explain why someone had cleared out everything except the furniture from the apartment.
Jutta continued her musings. “It can’t be coincidence that all three were killed in the same way. Sure, Uncle Jossi had an eventful life, and there’s no doubt that he made both friends and enemies. But Uncle Herrmann? Or Anita? I can’t understand it.”
“What has us puzzled is the number that the perpetrator left behind at all three murder scenes. One one six four five. It might refer to a date, or something else. But what?”
At that moment, the door opened. Jutta gave a start when Moormann appeared in the doorway.
“Can’t you knock?” she chided the man.
“I beg your pardon.” Moormann nodded politely to Bodenstein, but his horsey face remained expressionless. “Mrs. Kaltensee is feeling much worse. I just wanted to inform you before I call the emergency doctor.”
“Thank you, Moormann,” said Siegbert. “We’ll be right up.”
Moormann bowed every so slightly and then left.
“Please excuse me.” Siegbert Kaltensee suddenly seemed very worried. He fished a business card out of his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Bodenstein. “If you have any more questions, call me.”
“Of course. Please give your mother my wishes for a speedy recovery.”
“Thank you. Are you coming, Jutta?”
“Yes, right away.” She waited until her brother had left, then pulled out a cigarette from the pack with nervous fingers.
“Terrible, that Moormann.” Her face was white and she took a deep breath. “Creeping all over soundlessly and scaring me half to death each time, that old spy.”
Bodenstein was surprised. Jutta had grown up in this house and must have been used to the presence of discreet servants. Together, they walked through the foyer to the front door, where Jutta Kaltensee paused and looked around suspiciously.
“By the way, there’s someone else you ought to talk to,” she said in a low voice. “Thomas Ritter, my mother’s former assistant. He’s capable of anything.”
Bodenstein was deep in thought as he returned to his car. Elard Kaltensee didn’t like either his mother or his siblings, who both countered his dislike with an air of condescension. Then why did he continue to live at Mühlenhof? Siegbert and Jutta Kaltensee had been polite and helpful and had answered all of his questions without hesitation. But they, too, seemed surprisingly unaffected by the brutal murder of the three old people, whom they had supposedly held in high esteem. Bodenstein stopped next to his car. Something had bothered him during his conversation with the two Kaltensees, but what was it? Twilight was falling. With a hiss, the sprinklers started up, spraying the water that was responsible for the lush green of the extensive lawns. And then it dawned on him. It had been only a casual remark that Jutta Kaltensee had made, but it might turn out to be important.
Saturday, May 5
Bodenstein looked at the taped-together paper strips that Pia Kirchhoff had handed him and listened in disbelief to her explanation of how she had obtained this evidence. They were standing at the front door of his house. Inside, frantic activity reigned. In this phase of the investigations, he really couldn’t permit himself a day off, but it would have led to a fairly serious family crisis if he had gone to the station on the day of his youngest daughter’s christening.
“We definitely need to talk to Vera Kaltensee,” Pia insisted. “She has to tell us more about the three victims. What if there are more murders?”
Bodenstein nodded. He remembered what Elard Kaltensee had said about his mother: “How she thinks that she’ll be the next one lying in the front hall with a bullet in the back of her head.”
“Besides, I’m convinced that she was the one who ordered Anita Frings’s apartment to be cleared out,” Pia said. “I’d really like to know why.”
“Mrs. Frings probably ha
d a secret, just as Goldberg and Schneider did,” Bodenstein remarked. “But I’m afraid we’ll have to forget about talking to her for the time being. I just spoke to her daughter on the phone, and she told me that the emergency doctor had Vera admitted to the hospital last night. She’s in the locked psychiatric ward, suffering from a nervous breakdown.”
“Bullshit. She’s not the type to have a nervous breakdown.” Pia shook her head. “She’s going underground because things are getting too hot for her.”
“I’m not so sure that Vera Kaltensee is behind the whole thing.” Bodenstein scratched his head as he pondered the latest developments.
“Who else could it be?” Pia asked. “In Goldberg’s case, it could have been his son, or maybe the CIA. Someone who didn’t want the man’s past to be made public. But this old woman? What secret could she possibly have been hiding?”
“We may be on the wrong track about the number referring to a date,” he said. “Maybe the solution is much more banal than we assume. This number, for example, could also be a red herring that the perp left to confuse us. At any rate, Ostermann is going to have to find out more about KMF. Jutta Kaltensee mentioned some shares that her father had signed over to Anita Frings.”
Bodenstein had called Pia after his visit to Mühlenhof and briefly summarized the contradictory information he’d gleaned from the Kaltensee siblings about Goldberg and Schneider. He hadn’t told her that Jutta had called him back late in the evening, because he didn’t quite know what to make of that phone call.
“You think that it was about money?”
“In the broader sense. Perhaps.” Bodenstein shrugged. “At the end of the conversation, Jutta Kaltensee suggested that I talk to her mother’s former assistant. We ought to do that in any event, to get another angle on the Kaltensee family.”
“Okay.” Pia nodded. “I’ll also look into Schneider’s estate. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”
She was about to leave, when she remembered something else. From her pocket she took out a small gift-wrapped package and handed it to Bodenstein. “For Sophia,” she said with a smile. “With best wishes from K-Eleven.”
