Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(14)

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The intersection at the Sulzbach North S-Bahn station was a picture of devastation. There had been a seven-car collision, and firemen were trying to extricate people from the twisted mass of metal using acetylene torches and heavy equipment and strewing sand in the pools of spilled gasoline. Several ambulances were lined up to take care of the injured. Despite the cold and the rain, rubberneckers had gathered behind the police cordon, watching the horrendous spectacle with ghoulish fascination. Bodenstein and Kirchhoff made their way through the uniforms over to Chief Detective Superintendent Hendrik Koch from the Eschborn district, who was one of the first on the scene of the accident.

“I’ve seen a lot of accidents in my day, but this is one of the worst.” Horror was written all over the face of the experienced police officer. He explained the situation to Bodenstein and Kirchhoff. A woman had fallen from the pedestrian bridge at 5:26 P.M., landing on the windshield of a BMW coming from the direction of Schwalbach. Without braking, the driver pulled sharply to the left and sped into the opposite lanes head-on. Multiple collisions on both sides of the highway had resulted. One driver, who had stopped at the red light in Sulzbach, said he had seen someone push the woman over the railing onto the road below.

“What happened to the woman?” Kirchhoff asked.

“She’s alive,” replied Superintendent Koch and added, “for the time being. The EMT is working on her over there in one of the ambulances.”

“We got a report of one death.”

“The driver of the BMW suffered a fatal heart attack. Probably from fright. Attempts to resuscitate him failed.” Koch nodded toward the middle of the intersection. A body lay next to the completely demolished BMW. A pair of shoes stuck out from under a rain-spattered blanket. Over by the police cordon there was a sudden commotion. Two policemen were restraining a gray-haired woman who was trying to force her way inside the blocked-off area. Koch’s radio crackled and a voice squawked.

“That’s probably the wife of the BMW driver,” he said to the detectives in a tense voice. “Excuse me.”

He said something into his radio and set off across the battlefield. Pia didn’t envy him the task before him. Informing loved ones of someone’s death was one of the hardest parts of their job, and neither psychological training nor years of experience made it any easier.

“Don’t worry about the woman,” Bodenstein said. “I’ll go talk to the witness.”

Pia nodded and went over to the ambulance where the seriously injured were being treated. The rear door opened and the EMT stepped out. Pia recognized him from previous accident scenes.

“Ah, Ms. Kirchhoff,” he greeted her. “We’ve stabilized her and will be taking her to the hospital in Bad Soden. Several broken bones, facial lacerations, and probably some internal injuries. You can’t talk to her.”

“Was she able to tell you who she is?”

“She had a car key in her—” The medic stopped and took a step back as the ambulance began to move off, the siren making all conversation impossible. Pia spoke with him a bit more, then thanked him and went over to her colleague. In the jacket pocket of the injured woman they had found only the car key, nothing else. The woman, who was about fifty, had not been carrying a purse. A search of the bridge and train platform turned up only a bag of groceries. In the meantime Bodenstein had spoken to the driver who witnessed the woman’s fall from the bridge. He swore up and down that somebody had pushed the woman—a man, he was sure of that despite the darkness and the rain.

Bodenstein and Kirchhoff went up the stairs to the bridge.

“This is where she fell from.” Pia looked at the spot marked on the bridge. “How high is it, do you think?”

“Hmm,” Bodenstein said, looking over the railing, which came up to about his hip. “Fifteen or twenty feet, I’d say. I can hardly believe she survived the fall. The car she hit was going pretty fast.”

From up there the view was almost surreal: the wrecked cars, the blue and orange flashing lights, the rescue crew wearing reflective vests. Rain was blowing obliquely through the light cast by the floodlights. What must have gone through that woman’s mind as she lost her balance and knew that nothing could save her? Or did it happen so fast that she had no time to think at all?

“She had a guardian angel,” Pia said with a shudder. “I hope he doesn’t leave her in the lurch now.”

She turned and headed over to the train platform, followed by Bodenstein. Who was this woman? Where was she coming from and where was she headed? One moment she was sitting in the train, unsuspecting, and a few minutes later she was lying with shattered bones in an ambulance. That’s how fast it could happen. One false step, one wrong move with the wrong person—and nothing would ever be the same. What had the man wanted from her? Was he a robber? It almost looked that way; Bodenstein found it odd that she hadn’t been carrying a purse.

“Every woman carries a purse,” he said to Pia. “She had just gone shopping, so she needed money, a wallet or something.”

“Do you really think that the man was trying to rob her on a crowded train platform at five thirty in the afternoon?” Pia scanned up and down the tracks.

“Maybe it was a crime of opportunity. In this weather everyone would want to get home fast. Maybe he followed her on the S-Bahn because he saw her taking money out of an ATM.”