Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(103)

“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?”

“Oh, come on!” Pia shook her head angrily. “Are you trying to make me believe you don’t know what was in the cellar under the orangerie in your garden?”

“No, I don’t. I haven’t been down there in twenty years.”

Pia pulled out a chair from the table and sat down across from Terlinden.

“Yesterday in the cellar under Thies’s studio we found the mummified corpse of Stefanie Schneeberger.”

“What?” Uncertainty flared in his eyes for the first time. His fa?ade of iron self-control showed its first tiny cracks.

“Thies saw who killed the two girls,” Pia went on without taking her eyes off Terlinden. “Somebody found out about it and threatened to have Thies put in a home if he ever said a word. I’m firmly convinced that you were the one who told him that.”

He shook his head.

“Last night Thies disappeared from the psychiatric ward after he told me what he’d seen eleven years ago.”

“You’re lying,” Terlinden countered. “Thies never told you anything.”

“That’s right. His eyewitness account was nonverbal. He painted pictures that show the sequence of events in more detail than photos.”

Finally Claudius Terlinden showed some reaction. His eyes shifted back and forth, and his restlessly moving hands betrayed his nervousness. Pia rejoiced inside. Would this conversation finally bring the breakthrough they needed so urgently?

“Where is Amelie Fr?hlich?”

“Who?”

“Please! The reason you’re sitting here facing me is because the daughter of your neighbor and employee Arne Fr?hlich has disappeared.”

“Ah yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten for a moment. I don’t know where the girl is. What interest would I have in Amelie?”

“Thies showed Amelie the mummy of Stefanie. He gave her the paintings that he made about the murders. Amelie was in the process of exposing all the dark secrets of Altenhain. And it’s obvious that you wouldn’t want that to happen.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What dark secrets?” He managed a scornful laugh. “You really watch too many soap operas. Incidentally, you have to let me go soon. Unless you have some specific charge against me, which I find hard to believe.”

Pia didn’t allow him to shake her. “Eleven years ago you advised your son Lars not to admit that he had anything to do with Laura Wagner’s death, even though it was probably an accident. We’re investigating at the moment whether that’s enough to extend the detention order.”

“Because I wanted to protect my son?”

“No. For obstruction of justice. For perjury. Take your pick.”

“All that is ancient history.” Claudius Terlinden scrutinized Pia coolly. He was a tough nut to crack, and Pia’s confidence was fading.

“Where were you and Gregor Lauterbach after you left the Ebony Club?”

“That’s none of your business. We didn’t see the girl.”

“Where were you? Why did you commit a hit-and-run?” Pia’s voice grew sharper. “Were you so sure that nobody would dare turn you in?”

Claudius Terlinden didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to let himself be provoked into making a rash statement. Or was he perhaps really innocent? The evidence techs had been unable to find any trace of Amelie in his car. A hit-and-run accident was no grounds to hold the man any longer, and he was unfortunately right about the statute of limitations regarding the facts of the old case. Damn it.

* * *



Bodenstein drove along the now familiar main street, past Richter’s grocery store and the Golden Rooster, and at the kindergarten turned left onto Waldstrasse. The streetlights were on; it was one of those days when it never really got light. He was hoping to find Lauterbach at home on an early Saturday morning. Why had the cultural minister incited Hasse to destroy the old transcripts? What role had he played in September 1997? He stopped in front of Lauterbach’s house and saw to his dismay that, contrary to his orders, there were no patrol cars or even a plainclothes vehicle to be seen. Before he could telephone the station and voice his anger, the garage door opened and the backup lights of a car turned on. Bodenstein climbed out and walked over to the driveway. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Daniela Lauterbach behind the wheel of the dark-gray Mercedes. She stopped next to him and got out. He could see from her face that she hadn’t gotten much sleep.

“Good morning. What brings you here so early?”

“I wanted to ask you how Mrs. Terlinden is doing. I’ve been thinking about her all night.” It was a lie, but Daniela Lauterbach would surely take a sympathetic interest in her neighbor. He was right. Her brown eyes showed concern and the smile faded from her weary face.

“She’s not doing well. Losing a son that way is beyond terrible. And then the fire in Thies’s studio and the corpse in the cellar of the orangerie—it was all too much for her.” She shook her head sadly. “I stayed with her until her sister arrived to help out.”

“I really admire the way you support your friends and patients,” Bodenstein said. “People like you are rare.”