by Nele Neuhaus
“I didn’t do anything to Amelie,” he said in a strange, monotone voice before Pia could say a word. “I swear. I didn’t do anything, do anything.”
“Nobody is saying that you did,” Pia replied in a friendly voice.
Thies’s hands were fluttering uncontrollably, and he was rocking his upper body back and forth. His gaze was fixed on the picture lying before him.
“You like Amelie a lot, and she visited you often, isn’t that right?”
He nodded vehemently.
“I took care of her. Took care of her.”
Pia exchanged a glance with the doctor, who had sat down a short distance away. Thies again grabbed a crayon, bent over the picture, and continued drawing. There was silence in the room. Pia thought about what question to ask next. The doctor had advised her to speak normally to Thies, not as if to a child. But that turned out not to be so easy.
“When did you see Amelie the last time?”
He didn’t react, but kept drawing as if possessed, changing to a different crayon.
“What did you and Amelie talk about?”
This was completely different from a normal interview. Thies’s face revealed nothing; his expression was as rigid as a marble statue. He didn’t answer any questions, so Pia asked him no more. The minutes went by. Time meant nothing to autistic patients, the doctor had explained to Pia. They lived in their own world. Patience was required. But at eleven o’clock the funeral for Laura Wagner was being held at the cemetery in Altenhain, and she wanted to meet Bodenstein there. When she got up, disappointed, and was about to leave, Thies suddenly spoke.
“I saw her that evening, from the eagle’s nest.” He spoke in clear and distinct sentences that were grammatical and correct. Only the melody of the sentences was lacking, a result of his robotic delivery. “She was standing in the barnyard near the barn. I wanted to call out to her, but then … the man came. They talked and laughed and went into the barn so nobody could see what they were doing. But I saw it.”
Pia cast a bewildered look at the doctor, who merely shrugged, uncomprehending. Barn? Eagle’s nest? And what man had Thies seen?
“I can’t talk about it,” he went on, “or else they’ll put me in a home. And I’ll have to stay there till I die.”
Suddenly he raised his head and looked at her with bright blue eyes, as desperate as a figure in the paintings in Dr. Lauterbach’s office.
“I can’t talk about it,” he repeated. “Can’t talk about it. Or they’ll put me in a home.” He pushed the picture he had drawn over to Pia. “Can’t talk. Can’t talk.”
She looked at the picture and gave a shudder. A girl with long dark hair. A man running away. Another man bashing in the head of the dark-haired girl with a cross.
“That isn’t Amelie, is it?” Pia asked softly.
“Can’t talk,” he whispered hoarsely. “Can’t talk. Only draw.”
Pia’s heart beat faster as she grasped what Thies was trying to tell her. Somebody had forbidden him to talk about what he had seen. He wasn’t talking about Amelie. And the picture didn’t show Amelie either, but Stefanie Schneeberger and her murderer.
Thies had turned away from her again, grabbed a crayon, and was raptly drawing a new picture. It seemed as though he had withdrawn completely now. His features were still tense, but he had stopped rocking back and forth. Slowly Pia realized what this young man had been through in recent years. Someone had put pressure on him and threatened him so that he wouldn’t tell anyone what he had seen eleven years ago. But who had done that? Suddenly she also realized what danger Thies Terlinden was in if that person found out what he had just told the police. To protect him she had to pretend, even to the doctor, that it was completely irrelevant.
“Oh well,” she said. “Thanks a lot, at any rate.” She got up, and the doctor and orderly did too.
“Snow White must die. That’s what they said,” Thies announced all of a sudden. “But nobody can do anything to her anymore. I’m watching out for her.”
* * *
The fog and drizzle kept no one in Altenhain from accompanying the mortal remains of Laura Wagner on her last journey. The parking lot in front of the Black Horse couldn’t hold all the cars. Pia simply parked up the street, climbed out of the car, and walked briskly toward the tolling bells of the church, where Oliver was waiting for her on the covered porch.
“Thies saw everything that happened in 1997,” she blurted out the news. “He did paint pictures, just as Amelie told Tobias. Somebody put pressure on him, telling him that he’d be sent to a home if he ever told anyone what he saw.”
“What did he say about Amelie?” Bodenstein was impatient, a sign that he too had found out something important.
“Nothing. Only that he didn’t do anything to her. But he spoke about Stefanie and even drew a picture.”
Pia fished the folded paper out of her purse and handed it to Oliver.
He glanced at it and frowned, then pointed at the cross. “That’s the tire iron. The murder weapon.”
Pia nodded excitedly. “Who could have threatened him? His father?”
“Maybe. He probably wouldn’t have wanted his own son to get mixed up in such a crime.”
“But Thies didn’t do anything,” Pia countered. “He was only a witness.”
“I’m not talking about Thies,” Oliver shot back. The bell stopped tolling. “This morning I was called to a suicide. A man took his life in a car in the parking lot by the Nepomuk curve. And the man was Thies’s brother, Lars Terlinden.”
“What?” Pia was shocked.
“That’s right.” Oliver nodded. “What if Lars killed Stefanie and his brother saw it?”
“Lars Terlinden went to study in England right after the girls disappeared.” Pia tried to recall the chronology of events in September 1997. The name of Thies’s brother had never come up in the old files.
“Maybe that was how Claudius Terlinden kept his son out of the investigation. And then he threatened his other son so that he would keep his mouth shut,” Oliver proposed.
“But what did Thies mean when he said that nobody could do anything to Snow White anymore because he would take care of her?”
Oliver shrugged. They didn’t seem any closer to resolving the case. In fact it was getting more and more complicated. They walked around the church to the cemetery. The funeral party had gathered under umbrellas, crowding around the open grave. At that moment the white coffin, with a bouquet of white carnations on top, was being lowered. The men from the funeral parlor withdrew, and the pastor began to speak.
Manfred Wagner had obtained a release from custody to attend the funeral for his eldest daughter. With a stony face he stood in the front row beside his wife and two teenagers. The two warders who had accompanied him waited a short distance away. A young woman wearing stiletto heels hurried past Bodenstein and Kirchhoff without looking at them. She had done up her gleaming blond hair in a simple knot, and she wore a tight black suit and big sunglasses despite the gloomy weather.
“Nadia von Bredow,” Pia explained to her boss. “She’s from Altenhain and was a friend of Laura Wagner’s.”
“Ah, yes.” Oliver was lost in thought. “By the way, I just heard from Dr. Engel that she’s worried about Gregor Lauterbach. Cultural minister or not, he rode back home with Terlinden on the Saturday when Amelie disappeared.”
Pia’s cell began to ring. She quickly took it out and hurried around the corner of the church before she attracted any dirty looks.
“Pia, it’s me,” Ostermann said. “You told me the other day that interview transcripts were missing from the old file.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Listen to this. I don’t like telling you this, but it occurred to me that Andreas was pretty interested in those files. He stayed late one evening when I was sick at home, and I…”
The rest of his sentence was drowned out by a sudden howl from the siren on the roof of the Black Horse. Pia covered her other ear an
d asked her colleague to talk louder. Three men left the funeral party when the siren sounded and rushed past Pia toward the parking lot.
“… I’m wondering … prescription … but was in our office…” was all she could make out. “… no idea … ask him … is it?”
“Can’t hear you because of the siren.” Pia was straining to hear. “There’s a fire somewhere. Okay, give it to me again. What about Andreas?”
Ostermann repeated what he’d said before. Pia listened in disbelief.
“That would be absolutely amazing,” she said. “Thanks. We’ll see you later.”
She put away her phone and walked back to Bodenstein, lost in thought.
* * *
Tobias Sartorius walked past the barn and into the former cowshed. All of Altenhain was at the cemetery, so nobody would see him, not even his neighbor Paschke, the old block warden. Nadia had dropped him off up the hill at the rear entrance to the farm and then continued on to the cemetery to attend Laura’s funeral. Tobias closed the door of the milk room and went into the house. The feeling that he needed to hide was horrendous. He wasn’t suited to such a life. Just as he was about to go upstairs, his father appeared, silent as a shadow, in the kitchen doorway.
“Tobias! Thank God!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been so worried about you! Where have you been?”
“Dad.” Tobias hugged his father. “I was at Nadia’s. The cops aren’t going to believe me. They’ll just lock me up again.”
Hartmut Sartorius nodded.
“I came to grab a few clothes. Nadia went to the funeral and will pick me up later.”
Only now did it occur to him that his father was at home on a weekday instead of being at work.
“They let me go.” Hartmut Sartorius shrugged. “Came up with some sort of flimsy argument. My boss is Dombrowski’s son-in-law, after all.”
Tobias understood. His throat tightened. Now he was also to blame for his father getting fired.
“I wanted to quit anyway,” said Hartmut Sartorius lightly. “I want to do real cooking again, not just thaw out frozen crap and shovel it onto plates.” Then he seemed to remember something. “A letter came for you today.”
He turned and went into the kitchen. Tobias followed. The letter had no return address. He would have liked to throw it in the trash unopened. Probably another vulgar insult. He sat down at the kitchen table, tore open the envelope, and unfolded the elegant cream-colored sheet of paper. Baffled, he looked at the letterhead of a Swiss bank before he started to read the handwritten text. The very first lines hit him like a fist in the stomach.
“Who’s it from?” asked his father. Outside a fire engine thundered past with blue lights flashing and the siren wailing, rattling all the windowpanes. Tobias swallowed. He looked up.
“From Lars,” he croaked. “From Lars Terlinden.”
* * *
The gate to the Terlinden property stood wide open. The acrid smell of smoke penetrated even through the closed car window. The fire department vehicles had driven across the lawn, leaving deep ruts in the marshy ground. It wasn’t the villa that was in flames, but a building farther back on the expansive grounds. Pia Kirchhoff left her car in the courtyard in front of the house and approached the site of the fire on foot along with Bodenstein. The thick smoke brought tears to their eyes. The fire department already seemed to have the fire under control. No more flames could be seen, only thick, dark clouds of smoke roiled out of the windows. Christine Terlinden was dressed all in black. Apparently she had been at the funeral or had been just about to drive there, when she noticed the fire. She watched the spectacle in shock, the muddle of fire hoses, the firemen trampling through the flowerbeds and destroying the lawns. Next to her stood her neighbor, Daniela Lauterbach. At the sight of the doctor Bodenstein involuntarily recalled his crazy dreams of the night before. She turned around as if she’d heard his thoughts, and walked over to him and Kirchhoff.
“Hello,” she said coolly and without a trace of a smile. Her normally shining, hazelnut-brown eyes today looked like frozen chocolate. “Was your visit with Thies productive?”
“No,” Pia replied. “What’s going on here? What’s the building that’s burning?”
“The orangerie. Thies’s studio. Christine is very worried about how Thies will react when he finds out that all his paintings have burned.”
“Unfortunately we have some more bad news for Mrs. Terlinden,” said Bodenstein.
Daniela Lauterbach raised one of her shapely eyebrows. “It can’t get much worse,” she said, her voice sharp. “I heard that you’re still holding Claudius. Why?”
For a moment Bodenstein was tempted to plead for her understanding in order to justify his actions. But Pia spoke first.
“We have our reasons,” she said. “Unfortunately we have to report to Mrs. Terlinden that her son has taken his own life.”
“What? Thies is dead?” Dr. Lauterbach looked at Pia. Was it relief that flickered briefly in her eyes before consternation spread across her face? How odd.
“No, not Thies,” said Pia. “Lars.”
Bodenstein let Pia do the talking. It irritated him that he was so eager for Daniela Lauterbach’s approval. Was it because of the sympathy that she had shown him? Had he read too much into her kindness because of his own emotional crisis? He couldn’t take his eyes off her face and wished absurdly that she would smile at him.
“He died from carbon monoxide poisoning, sitting in his car,” Pia said. “We found his body this morning.”
“Lars? Good God.”
As the doctor realized what terrible news was in store for her friend Christine, the ice in her eyes melted. She seemed suddenly helpless, but then she straightened her shoulders.
“I’ll tell her,” she said with determination. “It’s better that way. I’ll take care of her. Call me later.”
She turned and went over to her friend, who hadn’t taken her eyes off the burning building. Daniela Lauterbach put both arms around her friend’s shoulders and spoke softly to her. Christine Terlinden emitted a muted cry and swayed a bit, but Lauterbach held her tight.
“Let’s go,” said Pia. “They’ll manage.”
Bodenstein tore himself away from the sight of the two women and followed Pia back through the ravaged park. Just as they reached their car, a woman came walking toward them, but he couldn’t immediately place her.
“Hello, Mrs. Fröhlich,” Pia greeted Amelie’s stepmother. “How are you doing?”
“Not good,” the woman admitted. She was very pale but seemed composed. “I wanted to ask Mrs. Terlinden what happened here, since I saw her car. Is there any news? Did your colleague make any headway with those pictures?”
“What pictures?” asked Pia in surprise.
Bewildered, Barbara Fröhlich looked back and forth from Pia to Bodenstein.
“B-but your colleague visited me yesterday,” she stammered. “She … she said you had sent her. Because of the pictures that Thies gave Amelie.”
Bodenstein and Pia exchanged a quick look.
“We didn’t send anyone,” said Pia with a frown. This whole case was getting stranger and stranger.
“But the woman said…” Barbara Fröhlich began, and then stopped helplessly.
“Did you see the pictures?” Bodenstein asked.
“No … she looked through the whole room and found a concealed door behind the chest of drawers. And inside there really was a roll of pictures. Amelie must have hidden them there … But I didn’t see what was in the pictures. The woman took them with her, and even offered to give me a receipt.”
“What did she look like, our so-called colleague?” Pia asked. Barbara Fröhlich seemed to grasp that she had made a mistake. Her shoulders slumped forward and she leaned against the fender of the car, a fist pressed to her lips. Pia went over to her and put an arm around her shoulder.
“She … she had a police badge,” Amelie’s stepmother whispered, fighting back the tears. “She was … so understandi
ng and friendly. She … she … said that the pictures would help you find Amelie, and that was all that was important to me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Pia tried to console her. “Can you remember what the woman looked like?”
“Short dark hair. Glasses. Slim.” Barbara Fröhlich shrugged. In her eyes was naked fear. “Do you think Amelie is still alive?”
“I’m sure of it,” said Pia, though she had her doubts. “We’ll find her. Try not to worry.”
* * *
“Thies’s paintings show the real killer, I’m sure of it,” said Pia a little later to her boss as they drove in the direction of Neuenhain. “He gave them to Amelie for safekeeping, but Amelie made the mistake of telling somebody about the pictures.”
“Exactly.” Oliver nodded darkly. “Namely Tobias Sartorius. And he sent someone over to the Fröhlichs to get the pictures. He’s probably already destroyed them.”
“It wouldn’t matter to Tobias if he was in the pictures,” Pia countered. “He served his time. What else could happen to him? No, no, there has to be somebody else who has a vested interest in making sure those pictures never see the light of day.”
“And who would that be?”
Pia found it hard to put her suspicions into words. She realized that her first impression of Claudius Terlinden couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Thies’s father,” she said.
“Possibly,” Oliver agreed. “But it could also be somebody who isn’t even on the list, because we don’t know about him. You have to take the next left.”
“Where are we going, anyway?” Pia turned on the left turn signal, waited for traffic to clear, and turned into the street.
“To Hasse’s,” Oliver said. “He lives in the last house on the left side, up near the woods.”
Her boss hadn’t reacted when Pia told him earlier about Ostermann’s call, but he now seemed determined to get to the bottom of the matter. A moment later they pulled up in front of the cottage with a tiny front yard. They knew that Andreas Hasse was planning to have his mortgage paid off on the day he retired. He had mentioned it countless times, full of resentment over the rotten pay that public servants received. They got out and went to the front door. Oliver rang the bell. Hasse himself opened the door. He suddenly turned deathly pale and lowered his head in embarrassment. So Ostermann had scored a bull’s-eye with his hunch. Unbelievable.
