Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(116)

“When Lorenz and Rosi were small, I was still able to work. And sometimes you did take over the responsibility,” Cosima argued. “But that’s not what I want to discuss with you. What’s past is past. I made a big mistake, but I’m certainly not going to go around in sackcloth and ashes until you decide to forgive me.”

“So why are you here?” The cell phone in his coat pocket rang and vibrated, but he ignored it.

“After Christmas I want to accompany Gavrilow’s expedition through the Northwest Passage for four weeks,” Cosima informed him. “You’d have to take care of Sophia while I’m gone.”

Speechless, Oliver stared at his wife as if she’d just slapped him. Cosima hadn’t come to ask his forgiveness—no, she had long ago made up her mind about her future. A future in which he was relegated to the job of babysitter. His knees felt as soft as butter.

“You can’t be serious,” he whispered.

“Oh yes I am. I signed the contract a couple of weeks ago. It was clear to me that you wouldn’t approve.” She shrugged. “I’m sorry it had to come up this way, honestly. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past few months. I would regret it to the end of my days if I don’t make this film…”

She kept on talking but her words no longer registered with him. He’d understood the most important thing: In her heart she had left him long ago, rejecting the life they had shared. Actually he’d never really been sure of her. All these years he had thought that the contradictory side of her personality was what made their relationship special, like adding salt to the soup. But now he realized that they just didn’t fit together. He felt a painful pang in his heart.

And now she was doing the same thing she’d done so many times before: She had made a decision that he was forced to accept. She was the one who always determined the direction of their lives. She had the money. She had bought the property in Kelkheim and paid for the house to be built. He could never have afforded all that. It hurt, but on this gloomy November morning he saw for the first time that Cosima was no longer the beautiful, self-assured, exciting companion he wanted at his side. Instead she was the woman who ruthlessly pushed through her will and her plans. How stupid and blind he’d been all this time!

The blood was roaring in his ears. She had stopped talking and looked at him unmoved, as if waiting for a reply. He blinked. Her face, the car, the parking lot—it all blurred before his eyes. She wanted to leave him for another man. She wanted to live her life, and there was no longer any room for him in it. Suddenly jealousy and hatred overwhelmed him. He took a step toward Cosima and grabbed her wrist. Shocked, she tried to pull away, but he held her hand tight, as if in a vise. Her cool superiority vanished abruptly, and she opened her eyes wide in fear. Then she opened her mouth to scream.

* * *



At six thirty Pia decided to go to Nadia von Bredow’s condo without her boss. Bodenstein wasn’t answering his cell and hadn’t responded to her text.

Just as she was about to press the doorbell, the front door opened and a man came out. Pia and her two plainclothes colleagues who’d been staked out at the apartment started to slip past him to enter the building.

“Stop!” The slightly graying man in his mid-fifties and wearing round horn-rims blocked their way. “This is not allowed! Who are you looking for?”

“None of your business,” Pia snapped back.

“It certainly is.” The man took up position in front of the elevator, crossed his arms, and scrutinized her arrogantly. “I’m the chairman of the owners’ association. You can’t just walk right in here.”

“We’re from the criminal police.”

“Oh yeah? Have you got an ID?”

Pia was boiling with fury. She pulled out her ID and shoved it in front of the man’s nose. Without another word she started for the stairs.

“You can wait down here,” she told one of her colleagues. “The two of us will go up.”

They had barely reached the door of the penthouse apartment when it opened. A brief look of fear was evident on the face of Nadia von Bredow.

“I told you to wait downstairs,” she said curtly. “But as long as you’re here you can take the suitcases.”

“Are you going away?” Pia realized that Nadia von Bredow didn’t recognize her and probably took her for the cab driver. “But you just got home.”

“What business is it of yours?” she replied irritably.

“Quite a bit, I think.” Pia held out her ID. “Pia Kirchhoff, Hofheim Criminal Police.”

Nadia von Bredow looked her up and down and stuck out her lower lip. She was wearing a dark-brown Wellensteyn jacket with a fur collar, jeans, and boots. She had pulled back her blonde hair in a tight knot, but even her carefully applied makeup couldn’t hide the shadows under her red-rimmed eyes.

“You’re coming at a bad time. I have to rush to the airport.”

“Then you’ll have to take a later flight,” said Pia. “I have a few questions for you.”

“I don’t have time for this right now.” She pushed the button for the elevator.

“Where have you been?” asked Pia.

“Traveling.”

“I see. And where is Tobias Sartorius?”