Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(113)

He fell silent and let his words sink in. His threatening tone had its effect, and Gregor Lauterbach was shaking all over. What did he fear more—the punishment he was facing or a possible public execution by the press?

“Tonight I’m going to give you one more chance,” said Bodenstein, now in a calm voice. “I will refrain from instigating legal proceedings with the district attorney’s office if you help us find Amelie and Thies. Think it over and discuss it with your lawyer. We’ll now take a ten-minute break.”

* * *



“That bastard,” said Pia, glaring at Lauterbach through the one-way glass. “He did it. He killed Stefanie. And now he’s snatched Amelie, I’m sure of it.”

They couldn’t hear what Lauterbach was discussing with his lawyer, because Dr. Anders had insisted that they turn off the microphone.

“Together with Terlinden.” Oliver frowned in thought as he sipped water from a paper cup. “But how did he find out that Amelie might know something?”

“No idea.” Pia shrugged. “Maybe Amelie mentioned something about the paintings to Terlinden? But no, I don’t think so.”

“Me neither. There’s still a piece missing. Something must have happened to scare Lauterbach.”

“Hasse?” Nicola Engel suggested from the background.

“No, he didn’t know about the paintings,” said Pia. “We didn’t find them until he was out of the picture.”

“Hmm. Then we’re actually missing a connection here.”

“Just a moment,” Oliver said. “What’s the deal with Nadia von Bredow? She was there when the boys raped Laura. And she’s in one of the pictures with Stefanie and Lauterbach in the background.”

Dr. Engel and Pia gave him a quizzical look.

“What if she was in the barnyard the whole time? She didn’t ride off with the boys to hide Laura’s body. And Nadia knew about the paintings, because Tobias told her about them.”

Dr. Engel and Pia instantly understood what Oliver was getting at. Had Nadia von Bredow blackmailed Lauterbach with what she knew and forced him to act?

“Let’s go back in.” Oliver tossed the cup into the trash can. “I think we’ve got him.”

* * *



The water was rising. Inch by inch. In the last light of day Amelie had seen that it was up to the third step. Her attempt to block the water from coming in with a thick woolen blanket worked until the water pressure pushed the blanket away. Now it was pitch dark, but she could hear the steady rush of water in the pipes. In vain she sought to calculate when the water would reach the top of the bookshelves. Thies lay close beside her, and she could feel his chest rising and falling. Now and then he coughed and wheezed. His skin was feverishly hot, and the cold dampness in this hole would finish him off. Amelie remembered that he’d been looking ill lately. How was he going to survive all this? Thies was so sensitive. A couple of times she had tried talking with him, but he hadn’t answered.

“Thies,” she whispered. It was hard for her because her teeth were chattering so hard that she could hardly open her mouth. “Thies, say something.”

Nothing. And then she finally lost heart. Her iron self-control, which had kept her from flipping out in the dark over all these days and nights, had vanished. She broke down in tears. There was no hope left. She was going to die in here, drowning miserably. Snow White had never been found either. Why should she have any better luck? Fear overpowered her. Suddenly she flinched. She felt something touch her back. Thies put his arm around her, slipped his leg over hers, and held her tight. The heat radiating from his body warmed her.

“Don’t cry, Amelie,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t cry. I’m here.”

* * *



“How did you learn of the existence of these pictures?”

Bodenstein didn’t dwell on a long introductory speech. He could easily see the condition Gregor Lauterbach was in. The minister was not a particularly strong man, and the pressure was really getting to him. After the trying events of the last few days he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

“I’ve received anonymous letters and e-mails,” replied Lauterbach, silencing his lawyer with a feeble motion of his hand when he tried to protest. “That evening in the barn I had lost my keys, and in one of the letters there was a photo of the key ring. Then it was clear to me that somebody had seen Stefanie and me.”

“Seen you doing what?”

“You know.” Lauterbach looked up, and Bodenstein read in his eyes nothing but self-pity. “Stefanie had been tantalizing me the whole time. I … I didn’t want to … sleep with her, but she badgered me so much that I … simply couldn’t do anything else.”

Bodenstein waited silently until Lauterbach spoke again in a whiny voice.

“When I … when I noticed that I’d lost my key ring, I wanted to go look for it. My wife would have ripped my head off, because the keys to her office were on it too.”

He looked up, pleading for understanding. Bodenstein had to force himself to conceal his growing contempt for this man.

“Stefanie said I’d better leave. She would look for the keys and bring them to me later.”

“And did she do that?”

“Yes. I’d gone home by then.”