Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(90)

“Tobias! Thank God!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been so worried about you! Where have you been?”

“Dad.” Tobias hugged his father. “I was at Nadia’s. The cops aren’t going to believe me. They’ll just lock me up again.”

Hartmut Sartorius nodded.

“I came to grab a few clothes. Nadia went to the funeral and will pick me up later.”

Only now did it occur to him that his father was at home on a weekday instead of being at work.

“They let me go.” Hartmut Sartorius shrugged. “Came up with some sort of flimsy argument. My boss is Dombrowski’s son-in-law, after all.”

Tobias understood. His throat tightened. Now he was also to blame for his father getting fired.

“I wanted to quit anyway,” said Hartmut Sartorius lightly. “I want to do real cooking again, not just thaw out frozen crap and shovel it onto plates.” Then he seemed to remember something. “A letter came for you today.”

He turned and went into the kitchen. Tobias followed. The letter had no return address. He would have liked to throw it in the trash unopened. Probably another vulgar insult. He sat down at the kitchen table, tore open the envelope, and unfolded the elegant cream-colored sheet of paper. Baffled, he looked at the letterhead of a Swiss bank before he started to read the handwritten text. The very first lines hit him like a fist in the stomach.

“Who’s it from?” asked his father. Outside a fire engine thundered past with blue lights flashing and the siren wailing, rattling all the windowpanes. Tobias swallowed. He looked up.

“From Lars,” he croaked. “From Lars Terlinden.”

* * *



The gate to the Terlinden property stood wide open. The acrid smell of smoke penetrated even through the closed car window. The fire department vehicles had driven across the lawn, leaving deep ruts in the marshy ground. It wasn’t the villa that was in flames, but a building farther back on the expansive grounds. Pia Kirchhoff left her car in the courtyard in front of the house and approached the site of the fire on foot along with Bodenstein. The thick smoke brought tears to their eyes. The fire department already seemed to have the fire under control. No more flames could be seen, only thick, dark clouds of smoke roiled out of the windows. Christine Terlinden was dressed all in black. Apparently she had been at the funeral or had been just about to drive there, when she noticed the fire. She watched the spectacle in shock, the muddle of fire hoses, the firemen trampling through the flowerbeds and destroying the lawns. Next to her stood her neighbor, Daniela Lauterbach. At the sight of the doctor Bodenstein involuntarily recalled his crazy dreams of the night before. She turned around as if she’d heard his thoughts, and walked over to him and Kirchhoff.

“Hello,” she said coolly and without a trace of a smile. Her normally shining, hazelnut-brown eyes today looked like frozen chocolate. “Was your visit with Thies productive?”

“No,” Pia replied. “What’s going on here? What’s the building that’s burning?”

“The orangerie. Thies’s studio. Christine is very worried about how Thies will react when he finds out that all his paintings have burned.”

“Unfortunately we have some more bad news for Mrs. Terlinden,” said Bodenstein.

Daniela Lauterbach raised one of her shapely eyebrows. “It can’t get much worse,” she said, her voice sharp. “I heard that you’re still holding Claudius. Why?”

For a moment Bodenstein was tempted to plead for her understanding in order to justify his actions. But Pia spoke first.

“We have our reasons,” she said. “Unfortunately we have to report to Mrs. Terlinden that her son has taken his own life.”

“What? Thies is dead?” Dr. Lauterbach looked at Pia. Was it relief that flickered briefly in her eyes before consternation spread across her face? How odd.

“No, not Thies,” said Pia. “Lars.”

Bodenstein let Pia do the talking. It irritated him that he was so eager for Daniela Lauterbach’s approval. Was it because of the sympathy that she had shown him? Had he read too much into her kindness because of his own emotional crisis? He couldn’t take his eyes off her face and wished absurdly that she would smile at him.

“He died from carbon monoxide poisoning, sitting in his car,” Pia said. “We found his body this morning.”

“Lars? Good God.”

As the doctor realized what terrible news was in store for her friend Christine, the ice in her eyes melted. She seemed suddenly helpless, but then she straightened her shoulders.

“I’ll tell her,” she said with determination. “It’s better that way. I’ll take care of her. Call me later.”

She turned and went over to her friend, who hadn’t taken her eyes off the burning building. Daniela Lauterbach put both arms around her friend’s shoulders and spoke softly to her. Christine Terlinden emitted a muted cry and swayed a bit, but Lauterbach held her tight.

“Let’s go,” said Pia. “They’ll manage.”

Bodenstein tore himself away from the sight of the two women and followed Pia back through the ravaged park. Just as they reached their car, a woman came walking toward them, but he couldn’t immediately place her.

“Hello, Mrs. Fr?hlich,” Pia greeted Amelie’s stepmother. “How are you doing?”