Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(79)

The smile vanished completely and with it the feigned courtesy.

“Wait here.” The man left, and Pia looked around unobtrusively. There she was. There sat Cosima von Bodenstein having an intimate conversation with a man who was clearly ten years younger. He was wearing a rumpled business suit, and his shirt was open with no tie. His casual posture radiated self-importance. His tousled, dark blond hair reached to his shoulders. He had an angular face with an aggressively jutting chin, five-day beard, and a prominent aquiline nose. His skin was tanned from being outdoors—or the result of alcohol, Pia thought maliciously. Cosima von Bodenstein was animatedly going on about something, and he was looking at her with a smile, obviously fascinated. This was no business lunch, and no accidental meeting of old acquaintances—the erotic vibrations between the two were evident even to an impartial observer. They’d either come directly from bed or were pausing on the way there for a little lunch to pump up the anticipation. Pia felt genuinely sorry for her boss, yet she also felt a certain sympathy for Cosima, who must be longing for an adventure after twenty-five years of marital routine.

The appearance of the restaurant’s manager tore Pia away from her ruminations. He was in his mid-thirties, at most, but his sparse sandy hair and puffy face made him look older.

“I won’t take up much of your time, Mr.…” Pia began, inspecting the huge man, who was so impolite that he hadn’t offered her his hand or deigned to introduce himself.

“Jagielski,” the man announced, peering down at her and dismissing his ma?tre d’ with an arrogant gesture. “What is it? We’re in the middle of the noon rush.”

Jagielski. The name triggered some vague association in Pia’s mind.

“I see. Do you do the cooking?” she countered sarcastically.

“No.” He was clearly annoyed, and his restless eyes kept flitting over the dining room. Suddenly he turned around, stopped a young waitress, and hissed a remark that made her blush.

“It’s almost impossible to find properly trained help,” he then explained to Pia without a hint of a smile. “These young things are a disaster. They just don’t have the right attitude.”

New customers arrived, and they were standing in the way. In that instant she recalled where she had heard the name Jagielski before. That was the name of the owner of the Black Horse in Altenhain. Her inquiry confirmed that it was no coincidence. Andreas Jagielski owned the Black Horse as well as the Ebony Club and another place in Frankfurt.

“So, what’s the deal?” he asked. Politeness was not his strong suit. Neither was discretion. They were still standing in the middle of the foyer.

“I would like to know if a Mr. Claudius Terlinden had dinner here last Saturday evening with his wife.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Why do the police want to know?”

“Because it’s of interest to the police.” His condescending arrogance was really getting on Pia’s nerves. “Well?”

A tiny hesitation, then a curt nod. “Yes, he was here.”

“Just with his wife?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Perhaps your ma?tre d’ would remember. You must keep a book of reservations.”

Reluctantly Jagielski waved over the ma?tre d’ he had chased off earlier and told him to bring the reservation book. He held his hand out and waited silently while the ma?tre d’ again climbed onto his high perch and then scurried back. The manager licked his index finger and paged slowly through the leather-bound register.

“Ah, here it is,” he said at last. “It was a party of four. Now I remember.”

“Who was with them? Names?” Pia insisted. Several customers were trying to get their coats and leave. At last Jagielski led Kirchhoff in the direction of the bar.

“I don’t see what business that is of yours,” he said, lowering his voice.

“Listen here.” Pia was impatient now. “I’m investigating the case of your missing waitress Amelie, who was last seen at the Black Horse on Saturday night. We’re looking for witnesses who may have seen the girl after that.”

Jagielski stared at her, thought it over for a moment, and probably decided that revealing the names would be harmless.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lauterbach were with them,” he finally told her.

Pia was astonished. Why had Claudius Terlinden withheld the fact that he and his wife went out to eat with their neighbors? At his office yesterday he had expressly mentioned only his wife and himself. Odd.

Cosima von Bodenstein’s companion was just paying the bill. The waitress beamed at him; apparently the tip was generous. He got up and went around the table to pull out Cosima’s chair for her. Although he was the complete opposite of Bodenstein in appearance, at least he had similar good manners.

“Do you know the man with the red-haired lady over there?” Pia asked Jagielski all of a sudden. He didn’t even have to raise his head to know who Pia was referring to. She turned around so that Cosima wouldn’t recognize her as she went out.

“Yes, of course.” His voice suddenly took on an almost incredulous tone, as if he couldn’t believe that anyone wouldn’t recognize the man. “That’s Alexander Gavrilow. Does he have something to do with your investigation?”

“It’s possible,” Pia replied with a smile. “Thanks for your help.”