Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(48)

His wife raised her eyebrows, and he averted his eyes.

“Something to think about. That’s just great,” she said with contempt.

He thought about how Tobias had looked at them, the naked fear of death on his face. Not until they had blindfolded him was he able to join in the punching and kicking. Out of annoyance at his own weakness he had then put all his strength into the assault. Now he was ashamed. No, it hadn’t been the right thing to do.

“You weaklings,” his wife spat out. With an effort he suppressed his rising rage. What the hell did she expect from him? That he would kill a man? A neighbor? The last thing they needed now was cops sniffing around all over town and asking stupid questions. There were too many secrets that were better left alone.

* * *



It was just after midnight when Hartmut Sartorius woke up. The TV was still on—some sort of slasher movie in which screaming teenagers with eyes wide in fear fled from a masked psychopath who came after them one by one and slaughtered them with an axe and a chainsaw. In a daze Sartorius felt for the remote and turned off the TV. His knee hurt when he stood up. In the kitchen a light was on; the uncovered pan with the schnitzel and fried potatoes stood untouched on the stove. A glance at the kitchen clock told him how late it was. Tobias’s jacket wasn’t hanging in the wardrobe, but the car key lay on the shelf under the mirror, so he hadn’t driven off somewhere. The boy was really overdoing it with his manic cleaning. He wanted to be able to present the property next week to the real estate agent in the best possible condition. Hartmut had agreed with every suggestion Tobias made, but he knew that he would definitely have to talk to Claudius with regard to the agent. Claudius Terlinden was still the sole owner of the whole estate, even if Tobias didn’t like it. Hartmut went to take a pee, then he smoked a cigarette at the kitchen table. By then it was twenty minutes to one.

With a sigh he got to his feet and went into the hallway. He pulled on his old cardigan before he opened the front door and went out in the cold pouring rain. To his astonishment the floodlight at the corner of the house was out, although Tobias had installed a motion detector there only three days ago. He walked across the barnyard and saw that it was also dark in the stable and barn, but the car and tractor were there. Was Tobias out with his friends? A peculiar feeling crept up on him when he flicked the light switch at the door of the cowshed. It clicked, but the light didn’t go on. He hoped that nothing had happened to Tobias while he was sleeping comfortably in the house in front of the TV.

Hartmut went into the milk room and over to the circuit breakers. Here the light worked, because this room was connected to the house circuit. Three breakers had tripped. He switched them back on, and at once the glaring floodlights came on above the doors of the stable and barn. Hartmut crossed the barnyard and uttered a low curse when he stepped in a puddle with his felt slipper.

“Tobias?” He stopped and listened. Nothing. The stable was empty, no sign of his son anywhere. He continued on. The wind tore at his hair, penetrating the mesh of his cardigan. He was freezing. The storm had scattered the heavy cloud cover, and scraps of cloud scudded rapidly past the half moon. In this pale light the three big containers that stood next to each other farther up the yard looked like enemy tanks. The feeling that something wasn’t right grew stronger when he saw that one side of the barn door was swinging back and forth in the wind. He tried to grab the door but it was torn away by a new gust, as if it had a life of its own. With all his strength Hartmut pulled it shut behind him. The floodlight went off only seconds later, but he knew his way around the farm in the dark and went straight to the light switch.

“Tobias!”

The fluorescent tubes hummed and flickered on, and at the same moment he saw the red graffiti on the wall. WHOEVER WONT LISSEN MUST PAY! He noticed the misspelling, then he discovered the crumpled form on the ground. The shock registered in his limbs so strongly that he started to shake. He stumbled across the barn, dropped to his knees, and saw with horror what had happened. Tears welled up in his eyes. They had tied Tobias hand and foot, and the cord around his neck was so tight that it had cut deep into his flesh. His eyes were blindfolded, his face and his naked torso showed clear signs of cruel abuse. It must have happened hours ago, because the blood had already congealed.

“Oh God, oh God, Tobi!” With trembling fingers Hartmut set about untying the cords. They had sprayed one word: MURDERER! in red paint on Tobias’s naked back. Hartmut touched his son’s shoulder and gave a start. His skin was ice cold.





Saturday, November 15, 2008



Gregor Lauterbach was pacing restlessly in his living room. He’d already drunk three glasses of scotch, but the calming effect of the alcohol failed to materialize. All day long he’d been able to push aside the threatening contents of the anonymous letter, but as soon as he got home he was overcome by fear. Daniela was already in bed, and he hadn’t wanted to disturb her. For a moment he had thought of calling his lover and asking her to meet him at his apartment, as a form of distraction, but he quickly dismissed the idea. This time he had to deal with things by himself. He had also taken a sleeping pill and gotten into bed. But the ringing of the phone yanked him out of sleep at one in the morning. Calls at that time of night were never good news. He had lain in bed shivering in a cold sweat, as if unhinged by fear. Daniela had taken the call in her room, and a little later she came down the hall softly so as not to wake him. Not until the front door closed behind her did he get up and go downstairs. Sometimes she had to go out at night to visit a patient. He didn’t have her on-call schedule memorized. By this time it was a little after three, and he was getting close to a nervous breakdown. Who could have sent him the letter? Who knew about Snow White and him and the lost key ring? Good God! His career was on the line, his reputation, his whole life! If this letter or one like it fell into the wrong hands, it was all over. The press was just waiting for a nice juicy scandal. Gregor Lauterbach wiped his sweaty palms on his bathrobe. He poured himself another scotch, a triple this time, and sat down on the sofa. Only the light in the entry hall was on, in the living room it was dark. He couldn’t tell Daniela about the letter. Even back then he should have kept his mouth shut. She was the one who had built this house and paid for it seventeen years ago. With his small civil servant’s salary he never could have afforded a villa like this. It had amused her to take him, the humble high school teacher, under her wing and introduce him to the right social and political circles. Daniela was a very good doctor; in K?nigstein and the surrounding area she had plenty of very wealthy and extremely influential private patients who recognized and nurtured her husband’s political talent. Gregor Lauterbach owed everything to his wife. He’d been forced to make that painful admission when she had very nearly withdrawn her favor and support. His relief when she forgave him had been boundless. At the age of fifty-eight she still looked dazzling—a fact that kept causing him problems. Even though since that time they no longer slept together, he did love Daniela with all his heart. The other women who had flitted through his life and shared his bed were unimportant, offering no more than physical satisfaction. He didn’t want to lose Daniela. No, he couldn’t lose her! Under no circumstance. She knew too much about him, she knew his weaknesses, his inferiority complexes, and the excruciating attacks of fear of failure, which he managed to keep under control for the most part. Lauterbach gave a start when the key turned in the front door. He got up and dragged himself into the hall.