Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(26)
“Because I didn’t see you afterwards.”
“You talk to the boy, visit him in prison, help out his parents—have you forgotten how he dragged you into this whole mess?”
“No, I haven’t,” Claudius Terlinden replied. His eyes fell on the kitchen clock on the wall. Quarter past seven. In ten minutes Amelie would be leaving her house. “All Tobias told the police back then was what he’d heard. And actually it was better that way, than if—” He broke off. “Just be glad it all worked out. Otherwise Lars would definitely not be in the position he’s in today.”
Terlinden dutifully brushed his wife’s proffered cheek with a kiss.
“I’ve got to go. I might be late getting home tonight.”
Christine Terlinden waited until she heard the front door close. She took a cup from the table, set it under the espresso machine, and pressed the button for a double. With cup in hand she went over to the window and watched her husband’s dark Mercedes slowly roll down the driveway.
A moment later she saw him stop in front of the Fr?hlichs’ house, his red taillights glowing in the dim early morning light. The neighbor girl seemed to be waiting for him and climbed into the car. Christine Terlinden inhaled with a little gasp and her fingers tightened around the handle of her cup. She had seen it coming ever since she first met Amelie Fr?hlich. She had noticed the fateful likeness at once. She didn’t care for the fact that the girl was cultivating a friendship with Thies. Even back then it had been difficult to keep her mentally handicapped son out of the whole thing. Was everything now going to repeat itself? The almost forgotten feeling of helpless despair spread through her veins.
“Oh no, dear God,” she murmured. “Please, please, not again.”
* * *
The photo that Ostermann had copied from the surveillance video of the train station platform was only in black and white, and pretty grainy, but the man’s face in the baseball cap was easy to see. Unfortunately the angle of the camera prevented a clear view of what happened on the bridge, but the credible testimony of fourteen-year-old Niklas Bender was enough to detain the man if he were found. Bodenstein and Kirchhoff had driven to Altenhain to show the photo to Hartmut Sartorius and his son. But even after they rang several times, no one opened the door.
“Let’s go over to the grocery store and show the picture around,” Pia suggested. “Somehow I have a feeling that this attack had something to do with Tobias.”
Oliver nodded. Pia’s intuition was as good as his sister’s, and her hunches were often correct. He had thought about the conversation with Theresa all last evening and waited in vain for Cosima to tell him who she had been talking to on her cell outside the riding hall. Oliver had convinced himself that it was probably completely trivial, and that was why Cosima had already forgotten about it. She made a lot of calls and her colleagues also phoned her a lot, even on Sundays. This morning at breakfast he had decided not to attach much importance to the matter, especially since Cosima had behaved completely normally. She had been in a good mood and had cheerfully told him about her plans for the day: to work on the film in the cutting room, meet the voice-over guy, and have lunch with the team in Mainz. All quite normal. She had kissed him good-bye, as she had almost every morning for the past twenty-five years. He was obviously worrying for no reason.
The doorbell of the little grocery store jingled as they entered the shop. In one aisle a group of women with shopping baskets had their heads together, probably exchanging the latest village gossip.
“Your call, boss,” Pia said softly to Oliver, who usually had no problem wrapping most women around his little finger with his outrageous good looks and Cary Grant charm. But today Bodenstein didn’t seem up to par.
“No, you’d better do it,” he replied. Through an open door they could see into the courtyard, where a powerful-looking gray-haired man was unloading crates of fruit and vegetables from a delivery truck. Pia shrugged and headed straight for the group of women.
“Good morning.” She flashed her badge. “Hofheim Criminal Police.”
Suspicious and curious looks.
“On Friday afternoon the ex-wife of Hartmut Sartorius was the victim of a malicious attack.” Pia chose her words carefully, going for added drama. “I assume that you all know Rita Cramer?”
They nodded.
“We have here a photo of the man who pushed her off a bridge directly into the path of an oncoming vehicle.”
The lack of shocked reactions led her to believe that news of the accident had already made the rounds in the village. Pia took out the photo and held it out to the woman in the white smock, apparently the owner of the store.
“Do you recognize this man?”
The woman glanced at the photo, squinting her eyes, then looked up and shook her head.
“No,” she said, feigning regret. “I’m sorry. I’ve never seen him before.”
The other three women, at a loss, also shook their heads, but Pia didn’t miss the quick glance that one of them exchanged with the store owner.
“Are you quite sure? Take another look. The quality isn’t very good.”
“We don’t know this man.” The store owner handed the photo back to Pia and returned her gaze without batting an eyelash. She was lying. It was obvious.
“Too bad.” Pia smiled. “May I ask your name?”