Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(61)

“Amelie,” he babbled. “Amelie Amelie Amelie Amelie. Whathaveyougotthere … Whathaveyougotthere … Whathaveyougotthere … Daddy … Daddy … Daddy…”

Breathing hard, Claudius Terlinden got to his feet. He was trembling all over. His wife stared at him, her hands clapped over her mouth, her eyes full of tears. Terlinden unfolded the paper and almost had a stroke. From the crumpled photo Stefanie Schneeberger was laughing up at him.

* * *



Arne and Barbara Fr?hlich had gone to see friends in the Rheingau on Saturday morning with their two younger children and didn’t return home until late. Amelie had worked the evening shift at the Black Horse. When she wasn’t home by midnight, her father had called the restaurant and learned from the incensed boss that Amelie had left shortly after ten, although they were at their wits’ end, they were so busy. After that the Fr?hlichs had called around to all their daughter’s classmates and friends whose numbers they could find. No luck. Nobody had seen Amelie or talked to her.

Oliver and Pia questioned Jenny Jagielski, the proprietor of the Black Horse, who told them what Arne Fr?hlich had said before. Amelie had been acting strangely distant all evening and kept trying to make a phone call from the kitchen. At ten o’clock she got a call and just took off. And on Sunday she didn’t turn up as usual to serve the early drinks crowd. No, Jenny didn’t know who had made the phone call that sent Amelie rushing off in such a hurry. The rest of the staff had no idea either. That evening all hell broke loose in the restaurant.

“Stop for a moment at the store,” Pia said to Oliver as they drove back down the main street. “It can’t hurt to ask around one more time.”

It turned out that they had come at a good time with regard to making inquiries. On this Monday morning Margot Richter’s small store was obviously the central meeting place for the female inhabitants of Altenhain. This time the ladies proved much more communicative than they were at their last visit.

“And this is exactly how it all started back then,” said Inge Dombrowski the hairdresser, and the other women present nodded in agreement. “I don’t want to imply anything, but Willi Paschke told me he saw Amelie over at the Sartorius place.”

“I also saw her go into their house recently,” another woman piped up, adding that she lived kitty-corner from Hartmut’s house and had an excellent view.

“She’s also bosom buddies with our village idiot,” a fat woman commented from the produce counter.

“Yes, that’s right,” three or four other women eagerly confirmed.

“With whom?” Pia inquired.

“With that Thies Terlinden,” the hairdresser explained. “He’s a few cards short of a deck, and prowls around at night through the village and the woods. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d done something to that girl.”

The other women nodded in agreement. In Altenhain there were always plenty of suspicions to go around. Neither Oliver nor Pia said anything to that, but simply let the women talk. They were clearly enjoying whetting their knives and sharing their lust for scandal. They seem to have forgotten the police were present.

“The Terlindens should have locked that son up in a home long ago,” one woman insisted. “But in this town nobody dares say a word to the old man.”

“Right, because then they’d have to worry about losing their job.”

“The last person who said something against the Terlindens was Albert Schneeberger. Then his daughter disappeared, and soon he was gone too.”

“It’s strange how Terlinden helped out Sartorius. Maybe the two boys did have something to do with it.”

“That Lars sure left Altenhain in a hurry afterwards.”

“And now I hear Terlinden has even offered the murderer a job. Unbelievable! Instead of making sure he gets lost.”

For a moment silence descended over the store; everyone seemed to be pondering the possible meaning of these words. Then they all started jabbering at once. Pia decided to play dumb.

“Excuse me!” she shouted, trying to make herself heard. “Just who is this Terlinden you keep talking about?”

Abruptly the women realized that they weren’t alone. One after the other hurried to leave the store under some pretext, most of them with empty baskets. Margot Richter remained behind at her cash register. Until now she had kept out of the discussion. As befitted a good shop owner, she kept her ears open but preserved her neutrality.

“That’s not the result we had in mind,” said Pia apologetically, but the shop owner was unperturbed.

“They’ll be back soon enough,” she said. “Claudius Terlinden is the owner of the Terlinden company up there in the industrial park. The family and the company have been here in Altenhain for more than a hundred years. And without them not much would happen here at all.”

“How do you mean?”

“The Terlindens are very generous. They support the associations, the church, the elementary school, the district library. With them it’s a family tradition. And half the village works at the plant. The one son, Thies, that Christa called ‘the village idiot,’ is a very peaceful guy. He wouldn’t harm a fly. I can’t imagine he could have done anything to hurt the girl.”

“By the way—do you know Amelie Fr?hlich?”