by Nele Neuhaus
“And when Tobias came back from prison, Richter took matters into his own hands and organized the attack on him,” Pia added. “Did you order him to do that?”
Terlinden turned around.
“No. In fact, I expressly forbade the assault,” he replied hoarsely.
“Manfred Wagner was the one who shoved Tobias’s mother off the bridge,” Pia went on. “If you hadn’t forced your son Lars to keep quiet about the truth, none of this would have happened. Your son might still be alive, the Sartorius family wouldn’t be destitute, and the Wagners would have learned what happened. Do you realize that you must bear the sole blame for the suffering these families have endured? Not to mention that because of your cowardice your own family has gone through hell!”
“Why me?” Terlinden shook his head, baffled. “I was only trying to contain the damage.”
Pia couldn’t believe her ears. Obviously Terlinden had found some sort of justification for his actions and omissions, and had been deluding himself for years.
“How could the damage have been any worse?” she asked sarcastically.
“The very fabric of the village community was threatening to break apart,” Terlinden replied. “My family has borne a great responsibility in this village for decades, if not centuries. I had to live up to it. The boys did something stupid when they were drunk, and the girl had provoked them.”
He had begun in an uncertain voice, but now he spoke in a tone of utter conviction.
“I thought that Tobias killed Stefanie. So he would be going to prison in any event. What did it matter if he was convicted of one crime or two? Because he kept his four friends out of trouble, I supported his family and always made sure that—”
“Now you shut up!” Bodenstein interrupted the man. “All you wanted was to keep your son Lars out of it! You were concerned solely with protecting your own name, which inevitably would have ended up in the newspapers if Lars had been connected to the murders. The young people and the villagers meant nothing to you. And it’s glaringly obvious how unimportant the Sartorius family was to you because you opened the Black Horse to compete with the Golden Rooster and even hired Sartorius’s cook to manage your restaurant.”
“In addition, you exploited the circumstances with ice-cold determination,” Pia took over. “Albert Schneeberger never wanted to sell you his company, but you put such massive pressure on him in this terrible situation that he finally did. Then, contrary to your agreement, you fired his employees and broke up the company. You are the only one who profited from the whole sad affair—in every respect!”
Claudius Terlinden glared daggers at Pia.
“But now everything has turned out very differently than you ever thought possible.” Pia refused to be intimidated. “The people in Altenhain didn’t wait for further orders from you, but decided to take action on their own. And then Amelie showed up and began investigating on her own initiative, putting half the village at risk. But your power had diminished to such an extent that you couldn’t stop the avalanche that was triggered by Tobias’s return.”
Terlinden’s expression darkened. Pia crossed her arms and returned his infuriated look without batting an eye. She had nailed his sore spot with absolute precision.
“If Amelie and Thies die,” she said with an ominous undertone, “you will bear sole responsibility for their deaths!”
“Where could those two be?” Bodenstein took over. “Where is Dr. Lauterbach?”
“I don’t know,” Claudius Terlinden said between clenched teeth. “God damn it, I really don’t know!”
* * *
The dark gray clouds hovering low over the Taunus promised snow. In the past twenty-four hours the temperature had dropped by almost eighteen degrees. This time the snow would stick. Pia was driving down the pedestrian street in Königstein, ignoring the angry looks from the few people who were out. She parked in front of the jewelry store above which Dr. Lauterbach had her practice. There a receptionist was bravely holding the fort, patiently fielding the incessant phone calls, and rescheduling indignant patients who had appointments that day.
“Dr. Lauterbach is not in,” she replied to Bodenstein’s inquiry. “And I haven’t been able to reach her by phone.”
“But she’s not at the conference in Munich.”
“No, that was only on the weekend.” The woman raised her hands helplessly as the phone rang again. “Actually she wanted to be back today. You can see what’s going on here.”
“We presume that she’s cleared out,” said Bodenstein. “We think she’s responsible for the abduction of two people, and she knows that we’re on her trail.”
The receptionist shook her head, wide-eyed.
“But that can’t be,” she protested. “I’ve been working for the doctor for twelve years. She would never hurt anyone. I mean, I … I know her.”
“When was the last time you saw Dr. Lauterbach or spoke with her? Has she been acting differently in the past few days, or has she been away more than usual?” Bodenstein glanced at the name tag on the right breast pocket of the woman’s starched white smock. “Mrs. Wiesmeier, please think! Your boss may have made a mistake, although she meant well. You could help her now, before things get any worse.”
Bodenstein’s personal plea and the urgent tone of his voice had an effect. Waltraud Wiesmeier paused to think, a frown on her face.
“I’ve been wondering why Dr. Lauterbach canceled all her appointments for people to look at Mrs. Scheithauer’s villa last week,” she said after a while. “She’s been trying for months to find a buyer for that big old place, and finally somebody was interested and wanted to come down from Düsseldorf on Thursday. But I had to call and cancel the appointment with him and two real estate agents. It was strange.”
“What kind of house is it?”
“An old villa on Grüner Weg with a view of the Woogtal. Mrs. Scheithauer was one of our patients for years. She had no heirs, and when she died in April she left her estate to a foundation and the villa to Dr. Lauterbach.” She gave an embarrassed smile. “I think the boss would have preferred it the other way around.”
* * *
“‘At a press conference this morning a spokesman for the cultural ministry announced the surprising resignation of Cultural Minister Gregor Lauterbach, stating personal reasons…,” said the news reporter on the car radio as Pia turned from Ölmühlweg down Grüner Weg. She slowly drove past the new construction and turned onto a cul-de-sac that ended at a huge wrought-iron gate.
“There has been no official reaction from the state chancellery. The government spokesman…”
“This must be it.” Bodenstein undid his seatbelt and got out almost before Pia had stopped the car. The gate was secured by a chain and a brand-new padlock, and only the roof of the villa could be seen. Pia shook the bars of the gate and looked to the left and right. The wall was over six feet tall with iron spikes on top.
“I’ll call for backup and a locksmith.” Bodenstein pulled out his cell. If Dr. Lauterbach was inside the villa, she probably wouldn’t give up without a fight. In the meantime Pia walked along the wall of the spacious estate but found only a smaller locked gate that was overgrown with thorny brush. Minutes later a locksmith showed up. Two patrol cars from Königstein parked farther up the street, and the officers approached on foot.
“The villa has been empty for a few years,” said one of the officers. “Old Mrs. Scheithauer lived at the Rosenhof retirement home in Kronberg. She was way over ninety when she died in April.”
“And then she left the whole place to her doctor,” Pia noted. “Why do some people have all the luck?”
The locksmith had finished his job and wanted to leave, but Bodenstein asked him to wait a moment. The first tiny snowflakes came floating down as they walked up the gravel path. The castle ruins on top of the hill had vanished in the clouds; the whole world around them seemed to have ceased to exist. Another patrol car caught up with them and stopped in front of the entrance.
The front door was also locked, and the locksmith got to work.
“Do you hear that?” asked Pia, who had eyes and ears like a lynx. Bodenstein listened, but he heard only the rustle of the wind in the tall firs in front of the villa. He shook his head. The door was opened and he stepped into a large, dim entry hall. It smelled deserted and musty.
“Nobody here,” he said, disappointed. Pia went past him and touched the light switch. It made a bang and sparks flew out of the switch. The two officers from Königstein grabbed their weapons. Bodenstein’s heart was in his throat.
“Just a short circuit,” said Pia. “Sorry.”
They moved on from room to room. The furniture was covered with white sheets, the shutters closed in front of the tall windows. Bodenstein crossed the big room that opened off the entry hall on the left side. The parquet floor creaked under his feet. He pulled aside the damp, moth-eaten velvet curtains, but the room didn’t get much brighter.
“I hear a rushing noise,” said Pia from the doorway. “Everybody be quiet!”
The officers fell silent. And now Bodenstein actually heard it too. There was water running down in the cellar. He went back and followed Pia to a door underneath the curved stairway.
“Has anybody got a flashlight with them?” she asked, trying to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. One of the patrol officers handed Pia a flashlight.
“It’s not locked but it won’t open.” Pia bent down and shone the light at the floor. “Look at this. Somebody put silicone under the door. Why would they do that?”
The colleagues from Königstein knelt down and dug out the silicone with their pocket knives. Pia yanked on the door until it sprang open. The sound of running water was louder now. Five or six dark shapes hurried past her and into the depths of the house. “Rats!” Bodenstein jumped back and bumped into one of the officers so hard that he almost fell over.
“You don’t have to KO me just for that,” the uniformed colleague complained. “You almost landed on my foot.”
Pia ignored them. She was lost in her own thoughts.
“Why was the cellar door sealed with silicone?” she asked as she went down the stairs, shining the flashlight in front of her. After ten steps she stopped in her tracks.
“Shit!” she swore. She was standing up to her ankles in icy water. “A water line broke! That’s why we got a short circuit. The circuit breaker must be down here.”
“I’ll call the water company,” said one of the officers. “They’ll have to shut off the main line.”
“And they’d better call the fire department too.” Bodenstein was keeping a wary eye out for more rats. “Come on, Pia. Lauterbach isn’t here.”
Pia wasn’t listening to him. Alarm bells were going off in her head. The house was empty and belonged to Daniela Lauterbach, who in the past week had suddenly canceled appointments for potential buyers to see the house. And not because she wanted to hide out here herself. Since her shoes and stockings were already wet anyway, Pia went farther down the steps. The water glugged and the cold hit her like a shock.
“What are you doing?” Bodenstein called after her. “Come on out of there!”
Pia bent over and shone the light around the corner in the dark. The water was up to less than ten inches below the ceiling. Pia went down another step, holding on to the railing with one hand. Now she was up to her hips in water.
“Amelie!” she yelled, teeth chattering. “Amelie? Hello?”
She held her breath and strained to listen; the cold was bringing tears to her eyes. Suddenly she froze. A jolt of adrenaline shot violently through her body, as if from an electric shock.
“Help!” she heard over the steady rush of the water. “Help! We’re in here!”
* * *
Smoking impatiently, Pia paced up and down in the entry hall. She hardly noticed her wet clothes and shoes, she was so excited. Bodenstein preferred to wait outside in the falling snow until the flooded cellar was accessible. The thought of spending any time under the same roof with an armada of rats gave him the creeps. The water company had turned off the main line, and the men from the Königstein Volunteer Fire Department were pumping out the cellar with all the hoses they had, sending the water down the hill into the overgrown park. Thanks to an emergency generator they now had lights. Three ambulances had arrived, and the police had cordoned off the property.
“All the air shafts through which the water could have drained out were blocked and sealed with silicone,” the fire captain reported. “Incredible.”
But true. For Bodenstein and Pia there was no doubt who had done it.
“We’re going in now,” announced one of the firemen, who like two of his colleagues was wearing waterproof waders that reached to his navel.
“I’m coming with you.” Pia tossed her cigarette carelessly on the parquet floor and stamped it out.
“No, stay here,” Bodenstein called from the doorway. “You’ll catch your death.”
“At least put on some rubber boots.” The captain turned around. “Wait, I’ll get you some.”
Five minutes later Pia followed the three firemen through the knee-high standing water into the cellar. In the light from the flashlight they opened one door after another until they found the right one. Pia turned the key in the lock and shoved against the door, which opened into the room with a piercing screech. Her heart was pounding hard enough to burst, and her knees buckled from relief when the cone of light from the flashlight revealed the pale, dirty face of a girl. Amelie Fröhlich blinked, blinded. Pia stumbled down the last two steps into the lower room, held out her arms, and grabbed hold of the hysterically sobbing girl.
“Calm down now,” she murmured, stroking Amelie’s matted hair. “Everything is going to be all right, Amelie. You don’t have to be scared anymore.”
“But … but Thies,” Amelie gasped. “I … I think he’s dead!”
* * *
Everyone at the Regional Criminal Unit felt enormous relief. Amelie Fröhlich had come through her ten days in the cellar of the old villa in Königstein without serious injury. She was exhausted, dehydrated, and had lost a lot of weight. But from a physical point of view she hadn’t suffered any ill effects from the terrible ordeal. She and Thies were taken to the hospital. The prognosis for Terlinden’s son was not good. He was in poor condition and was suffering from severe withdrawal symptoms. After the meeting in K-11 Bodenstein and Pia drove to the hospital in Bad Soden and were rather surprised to encounter Hartmut Sartorius and his son Tobias in the lobby.
“My ex-wife came out of her coma,” Sartorius declared. “We were able to talk with her briefly. She’s doing well, considering.”
“Oh, that’s great.” Pia smiled. Her gaze fell on Tobias, who seemed years older. He looked ill, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
“Where have you been?” asked Bodenstein, turning to Tobias Sartorius. “We’ve been very worried about you.”
“Nadia left him behind in a mountain cabin in Switzerland,” Hartmut Sartorius replied. “My son had to walk through the snow to the next village.” He put his hand on Tobias’s arm. “I still can’t believe that I was so wrong about Nadia.”
“We’ve arrested Ms. von Bredow,” Bodenstein said. “And Gregor Lauterbach has confessed to murdering Stefanie Schneeberger. In the next few days we’re going to demand that proceedings against you be reopened. You will be acquitted of any wrongdoing.”
Tobias Sartorius merely shrugged. It didn’t matter at all to him. The ten years he’d lost and the ruin of his family could never be repaired by any belated acquittal.
“Laura was still alive when the three boys threw her in the underground tank,” Bodenstein went on. “When they suddenly developed scruples and wanted to pull her back out, Lutz Richter stopped them by covering the tank with dirt. He was also the one who started a militia in Altenhain and made sure that everyone kept their mouths shut.”
Tobias didn’t react, but his father turned deathly pale.
“Lutz?”
“Yes.” Bodenstein nodded. “Richter also organized the attack on your son in the barn, and he and his wife were behind the graffiti on your house and the anonymous letters. They used all means possible to prevent the truth from coming out. When we arrested his son, Richter shot himself in the head. He’s still in a coma, but he’ll survive, and then he’ll be called to account in court.”
“And Nadia?” Hartmut Sartorius whispered. “I suppose she knew about all of this, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did,” said Bodenstein. “She was an eyewitness when Lauterbach killed Stefanie. And earlier she had convinced her friends to throw Laura in the tank. She could have averted Tobias’s conviction, but she said nothing. For eleven years. When he got out of prison, she wanted to make sure he didn’t come back to Altenhain.”
“But why?” Tobias’s voice sounded hoarse. “I don’t understand. She … she always wrote to me and waited for me and…”
He fell silent, shaking his head.
“Nadia was in love with you,” said Pia. “But you always rejected her. She found it very convenient that Laura and Stefanie vanished from the scene. She probably didn’t think they would actually convict you. When you were sent to prison, she decided to wait for you and win you for herself. But then Amelie showed up. Nadia saw her as a rival, but more than that, she was a genuine threat, because Amelie had obviously found out about something. Nadia disguised herself as a police officer so she could look for Thies’s paintings at the Fröhlichs’ house.”
“Yes, I know. But she didn’t find them,” said Tobias.
“Oh yes, she did,” Bodenstein replied. “Anyway, she destroyed the paintings, because you would have realized at once that Nadia had lied to you.”
Stunned, Tobias stared at Bodenstein, then swallowed hard when he realized the full scope of Nadia’s lies and deceit. It was almost more than he could cope with.
“Everyone in Altenhain knew the truth,” Pia went on. “Claudius Terlinden didn’t talk, because he wanted to protect his own name and his son Lars’s reputation. Since he had a guilty conscience, he supported you and your parents financially and—”
