Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(83)

“I understand. But it’s difficult. I was worried he might do some harm to himself in his current state, so I had no other option than to transfer him to the locked psychiatric ward.” Dr. Lauterbach peered over her steepled hands and tapped her forefingers thoughtfully on her pursed lips. “I don’t have the authority to arrange for Thies to talk with you.”

“But if Thies has done something with Amelie, she could be in great danger,” Pia replied. “Maybe he has locked her up somewhere and she can’t get out.”

The doctor looked at Pia. Her eyes were dark with worry.

“You’re right,” she said then. “I’ll call the head psychiatric physician in Bad Soden.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Pia added, as if it had just occurred to her. “Tobias Sartorius told us that Amelie mentioned your husband in connection with the events of 1997. Apparently there was a rumor going around then that he had given the lead role in the play to Stefanie Schneeberger because he was especially fond of her.”

Dr. Lauterbach had already reached out her hand for the phone but now drew it back.

“Tobias was accusing everyone back then,” she replied. “He wanted to get his own neck out of the noose, which is perfectly understandable. But all suspicions lodged against third parties were completely cleared up in the course of the investigation. The fact is that my husband, who was the director of the drama club at the time, was absolutely taken by Stefanie’s talent. Add to that her looks, which were perfect for the role of Snow White.”

She put her hand again on the receiver.

“What time on Saturday did you leave the Ebony Club in Frankfurt?” Bodenstein now asked. “Can you remember?”

A surprised expression flitted across the doctor’s face. “Yes, of course I remember,” she said. “It was nine thirty.”

“And you then rode back to Altenhain with Claudius Terlinden?”

“No. I was on call that evening, so I’d taken my own car. At nine thirty I was called to an emergency in K?nigstein.”

“Aha. And the Terlindens and your husband? When did they leave?”

“Christine rode with me. She was worried about Thies, who was in bed with the flu. I dropped her off down by the bus stop and then continued on to K?nigstein. When I got back home at two a.m., my husband was already asleep.”

Bodenstein and Kirchhoff exchanged a quick glance. Claudius Terlinden had really been lying about the course of events on that Saturday night. But why?

“When you returned from your emergency call, you didn’t drive straight home, did you?” Bodenstein prodded. The question didn’t surprise Dr. Lauterbach.

“No. It was a little past one when I left K?nigstein.” She sighed. “I saw a man lying on the bench at the bus stop and stopped.” She shook her head slowly, her brown eyes full of sympathy. “Tobias was dead drunk and already suffering from hypothermia. It took me ten minutes to get him into my car. Hartmut and I then got him up to his room and into bed.”

“Did he say anything to you?” Kirchhoff wanted to know.

“No,” said the doctor. “He wasn’t responsive. First I considered calling the EMTs and having him taken to the hospital, but I knew he wouldn’t have wanted that in any case.”

“How come?”

“I’d treated him only a couple of days before that, after he’d been beaten up in the barn.” She leaned forward and looked at Bodenstein so urgently that he felt uncomfortable. “I really can’t help feeling sorry for him, no matter what he’s done. The others may say that ten years in prison was too little. But I think that Tobias will be suffering for the rest of his life.”

“There are indications that he may have had something to do with Amelie’s disappearance,” said Bodenstein. “You know him better than many other people. Do you think that’s possible?”

Dr. Lauterbach leaned back in her chair and said nothing for a long moment, without taking her eyes off Bodenstein.

“I wish,” she said at last, “I could say ‘no’ with full conviction. But unfortunately I can’t.”

* * *



She tore the short-haired wig off her head and dropped it carelessly on the floor. Her hands were shaking too much to untie the red ribbon that fastened the roll, so she impatiently grabbed some scissors and snipped through it. With heart pounding she unrolled the paintings on her desk. There were eight of them, and it took her breath away when she saw with horror what they depicted. That miserable shithead had captured on canvas the events of September 6, 1997, with true photographic precision; not the slightest detail had escaped him. Even the silly lettering and the stylized little pig on the dark green T-shirts were clearly visible. She bit her lips and the blood roared in her ears. Suddenly the memory came vividly alive. The humiliating feeling of defeat as well as the wild satisfaction at the sight of Laura, who finally got what she deserved. That damned arrogant slut! She looked at the other pictures, smoothing them out with both hands. Naked panic gripped her, just as it had then. Disbelief, bewilderment, cold rage. She straightened up and forced herself to take a deep breath. Three times, four. Be calm. Think it over. This was a disaster, it was the absolute maximum credible accident. It could completely destroy all her careful planning, and she couldn’t let that happen. With trembling fingers she lit a cigarette. It was unthinkable what would have happened if the cops got hold of these pictures. It made her queasy. What should she do now? Were these really all the pictures, or had Thies painted more? She couldn’t take the risk, there was too much at stake. Quickly she smoked the cigarette all the way down to the filter, and then she knew what to do. She’d already had to make all the decisions herself. With fierce determination she grabbed the scissors and cut the paintings, one after the other, into little pieces. Then she put them through the shredder, took out the sack of confetti, and grabbed her bag. This was no time to lose her nerve. Everything was going to be fine.