Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(56)
Wagner opened his mouth to reply but changed his mind. His hostile expression turned unsure, and he looked at Bodenstein.
“I’m not going to let you get to me.” His voice shook. “I’m not saying another word without a lawyer present.”
He crossed his arms and lowered his chin to his chest like a recalcitrant child. Kirchhoff looked at her boss and raised her eyebrows. Bodenstein pressed the STOP button on the tape recorder.
“You’d better go home,” he said.
“You mean I’m … I’m not … under arrest?” Wagner croaked in astonishment.
“No.” Bodenstein stood up. “We know where to find you. The DA will bring an indictment against you. So you are going to need a lawyer.”
He opened the door. Wagner staggered past him, accompanied by the uniformed officer who had been present in the room. Bodenstein watched him go.
“The guy’s so pitiful that I almost feel sorry for him,” Pia said next to him. “But only almost.”
“Why did you come down on him so hard?” Oliver wanted to know.
“Because I have a hunch that there’s a lot more hidden behind all of this than we can see at the moment,” Pia said. “There’s something going on in that dump of a village. And it’s been going on for the past eleven years. I’m absolutely sure of it.”
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Bodenstein was not in the mood for another family celebration, but since it would be held at his home with a small group, he accepted his fate and served as the sommelier. His son Lorenz was turning twenty-five. The night before, Lorenz had partied into the wee hours with his huge circle of friends at a disco whose proprietor he knew from his DJ days, but he wanted to spend Sunday afternoon with his family to celebrate his birthday in a calmer setting. Cosima’s mother had come from Bad Homburg, Oliver’s parents and Quentin arrived with his three daughters—Marie-Louise couldn’t get away from her Schlosshotel—and the mother of Lorenz’s girlfriend Thordis, the veterinarian Inka Hansen, completed the guest list. They were all seated around the dining room table, with its white place settings and decorations in lovely autumn colors. Chef St. Clair had given his best cook, Rosalie, the day off, so from early morning she was to be found, with red cheeks and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, dashing about in the kitchen, which she had banned everyone from entering. The result was fantastic. The roast goose liver with almond crème and lemon followed a watercress mousse soup with marinated shellfish and quail eggs. For the main course Rosalie had really outdone herself: the saddle of venison with mélange of petits pois, crispy cannelloni and carrot-ginger purée couldn’t have been prepared better by the master chef himself. The guests applauded the young chef enthusiastically, and Oliver gave his eldest daughter a hug. She was utterly exhausted from all the work and the burden of responsibility.
“I think we’ll keep you,” he joked, kissing her on the top of her head.
“Thank you, Dad,” she replied wearily. “Now I need a schnapps!”
“In honor of the day you shall have one,” he said with a smile. “We’d like another…”
“We’d rather have more champagne,” Lorenz butted in, motioning to his sister. She remembered something they’d prearranged and vanished like lightning back to the kitchen, followed by Lorenz and Thordis. Oliver sat down and exchanged a glance with Cosima. He’d been watching her unobtrusively all morning. At around ten o’clock Rosalie had ordered them out of the house, so he and Cosima had driven out to the Taunus to take a walk around Glaskopf Hill in the beautifully warm Indian summer weather. Cosima had acted completely normal; there was nothing unusual about her behavior, and she had even taken his hand during their walk. His suspicions began to weaken, and yet he hadn’t dared bring up the topic with her.
Rosalie, Lorenz, and Thordis came back to the dining room, balancing full glasses of champagne on a tray, and served one to each guest, even the three young teenage nieces, who giggled gleefully. In the absence of their strict mother, Quentin decided not to object.
“Dear family,” Lorenz then announced solemnly. “Thordis and I wanted to take this opportunity to announce in the presence of the whole family, that we are engaged to be married.”
He put his arm around Thordis’s shoulder, and the two smiled at each other happily.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” said Lorenz with a grin as he looked at his father. “We don’t have to get married—we just want to.”
“Time for a toast,” said Quentin. Chairs were pushed back and everyone rose to congratulate the two. Even Oliver hugged his son and future daughter-in-law. The announcement of their engagement didn’t really surprise him, but he was astounded that Lorenz had kept the secret so well. He caught Cosima’s eye and went over to her. She wiped away a tear of emotion.
“You see,” she said with a smile. “Even our eldest son has turned bourgeois and is going to marry.”
“He’s certainly been keeping us in suspense long enough with his adventurous life,” said Oliver. Since he graduated Lorenz had spent an alarmingly long time as a DJ and in all sorts of temp jobs in radio and television. Oliver would have liked to exert his authority over his son, but Cosima had remained calm, firmly convinced that someday Lorenz would find his true calling. By now he was successfully moderating a daily three-hour show for a large private radio station. And on the side he made a surprisingly good living as the MC of galas, sporting events, and other functions all over Germany.