Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(81)

The doorbell rang, and Barbara flinched and stood up. She hoped it wasn’t one of the village women again. She knew that they feigned sympathy for her so that later at the grocery store they could present an exclusive report on the situation. She opened the front door. Before her stood a stranger.

“Hello, Mrs. Fr?hlich,” said the woman. She had short dark hair, a pale, serious face with bluish smudges under her eyes, and she wore rectangular glasses. “Detective Superintendent Maren K?nig from K-11 in Hofheim.”

She showed her criminal police badge. “May I come in?”

“Yes, of course. Please do.” Barbara Fr?hlich’s heart was pounding apprehensively. The woman looked so serious that she had to be bringing bad news. “Do you have any news about Amelie?”

“No, I’m afraid not. But my colleagues have learned that Amelie supposedly received some paintings from her friend Thies. Yet nothing of that sort was found in her room.”

“I don’t know about any paintings either.” At a loss, she shook her head, disappointed that the detective couldn’t tell her any news.

“Do you think we could take another look in Amelie’s room?” Maren K?nig asked. “The paintings, if they actually exist, could be extremely helpful.”

“Of course. Come with me.”

Barbara Fr?hlich led her upstairs and opened the door to Amelie’s room. She stood in the doorway and watched as the detective diligently searched the cupboards, then got down on her knees and looked under the bed and the desk. Finally she pulled the Biedermeier chest of drawers a bit out from the wall.

“A hidden door,” the detective said, turning to Barbara Fr?hlich. “May I open it?”

“Certainly. I didn’t even know it was there.”

“In many houses with sloping roofs there’s a cubbyhole like this and it’s used as a storage area,” the police officer said with a little smile for the first time. “Especially if they don’t have an attic.”

She squatted down, pulled open the door, and crept into the tiny space between the wall and the roof insulation. A cold draft came into the bedroom. A moment later she emerged, holding a thick roll wrapped in paper and carefully tied with a red ribbon.

“My God,” said Barbara Fr?hlich. “You actually did find something.”

Detective Superintendent Maren K?nig straightened up and brushed the dust from her stockings. “I’ll take the paintings with me. I can give you a receipt if you like.”

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Barbara Fr?hlich hastened to assure her. “If the pictures can help you find Amelie, then please take them.”

“Thank you.” The detective put her hand on her arm. “And try not to worry too much. We’re really doing everything humanly possible to find Amelie. I promise you that.”

Her words were so kind that Barbara Fr?hlich had to fight with all her might to quell the rising tears. Grateful, she merely nodded mutely. She briefly considered whether to call Arne and tell him about the paintings. But she was still deeply hurt by his behavior, so she didn’t bother. Only later when she was making herself some tea did it occur to her that she had neglected to look at the pictures.

* * *



Tobias was restlessly pacing back and forth in the living room of Nadia’s apartment. The big TV on the wall was on with the sound turned down. The police were searching for him “in connection with the disappearance of seventeen-year-old Amelie F.,” he had just read on the crawl beneath the picture. He and Nadia had spent half the night discussing what he should do. She thought they should look for the paintings. She fell asleep around midnight, but he had lain awake, trying in vain to remember what happened. One thing was sure: If he turned himself in to the police, they would arrest him on the spot. He had no plausible explanation for how Amelie’s cell phone could have wound up in his jeans pocket, and he still had not even the faintest memory of last Saturday night.

Amelie must have found out something about the events of 1997 in Altenhain, something that could be dangerous for someone. But who could that be? His thoughts kept leading him back to Claudius Terlinden. For eleven long years he had considered the man his only supporter on earth; in the joint he had looked forward to his visits and the long conversations with him. What a fool he’d been! Terlinden was only out for his own interests. Tobias didn’t go so far as to blame him for the disappearance of Laura and Stefanie. But Terlinden had ruthlessly taken advantage of his parents’ plight to get what he wanted: the Schilling land on which he had built the new administration building for his company.

Tobias lit a cigarette. The ashtray on the side table was already overflowing. He went to the window and looked out at the black water of the Main River. The minutes dragged by at an agonizing pace. How long had Nadia been gone? Three hours? Four? He hoped she found what they were looking for. Her plan was his only option. If the paintings actually existed, the ones that Amelie had mentioned on Saturday, then maybe he could use them to prove his innocence and at the same time find out who had kidnapped Amelie. Was she still alive? Was she … Tobias shook his head, but he couldn’t get rid of the thought. What if it was true—what the psychologists, expert witnesses, and the court had all affirmed back then? Was it possible that under the influence of too much alcohol he actually turned into a monster, as he’d been portrayed by the media? In the past, he’s always had a short fuse, and he had a hard time accepting defeats. He had expected to get what he wanted—good grades in school, girls, success in sports. He had seldom showed much consideration for others, and yet he’d been popular, the star of his group of friends. Or was that merely what he believed? Had his boundless conceit made him both blind and arrogant?