Snow White Must Die (Bodenstein & Kirchhoff, #4)(97)

Kathrin Fachinger called and reported success: Felix Pietsch, J?rg Richter, and Michael Dombrowski were at the station. None of them had resisted arrest. But there was more news that excited Pia. Ostermann had looked through the five hundred photos on Amelie Fr?hlich’s iPod and found pictures of paintings that could be the ones Thies had given her. Searching for Bodenstein, Pia trudged across the mushy lawn that had turned into a muddy mess beneath the tires of the heavy vehicles. Her boss was standing expressionless in front of the orangerie, smoking a cigarette. Just as she was about to show him the pictures from the iPod, the men inside the ruins began to shout and wave. Bodenstein woke from his torpor, dropped the butt, and went inside. Pia followed on his heels, It was still very hot inside the building that had been ablaze only a few hours earlier.

“We found something,” the fireman reported who had been leading the work after the captain of the squad had failed to show up. “A trap door. We’re trying to get it open.”

* * *



The street was dry, and the traffic jam on the A5 had dissolved beyond the Frankfurt interchange. Nadia stepped on the gas as soon as the speed limit was lifted and accelerated to 125 miles an hour. Tobias was sitting in the passenger seat. He had closed his eyes and hadn’t uttered a sound since they took off. It was all too much for him. His thoughts were circling around what he had learned this afternoon. Felix, Michael, and J?rg. He had thought they were his friends. And Lars, who’d been like a brother to him. They had killed Laura and hidden her body in the tank at the old airfield, but never said a word. They had let him go through hell and kept silent for eleven years. Why had they suddenly decided to come clean? Why now? He felt a deeply upsetting disappointment. Only a few days ago they had drunk beer with him, laughing and exchanging memories from the old days—and the whole time they were fully aware of what they had done, what they had done to him! He sighed heavily. Nadia grasped his hand and squeezed. Tobias opened his eyes.

“I can’t believe that Lars is dead,” he whispered, clearing his throat several times.

“It’s all totally incredible,” she agreed. “But I’ve always believed that you were innocent.”

He forced a smile. Amid all the disappointments, the bitterness, and the anger, a tiny seed of hope was sprouting. Maybe everything would turn out well for Nadia and him. Maybe they’d both have a chance once the shadows of the past were dispelled and the whole truth had come to light.

“I’m getting pissed off at those cops,” he said.

“Oh well,” she said, winking at him, “you’ll be back in a couple of days. And your father has my cell number, just in case. Everyone will understand that you need some distance about now.”

Tobias nodded. He relaxed a little. The ever-present, nagging pain inside him eased a bit.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he told Nadia. “Really. You’re simply wonderful.”

She smiled again, but kept her eyes on the road.

“We’re meant for each other, you and I,” she replied. “I’ve always known that.”

Tobias put her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. Ahead of them were a few days of peace and quiet. Nadia had canceled all her appointments. Nobody would bother them, and he didn’t have to be afraid of anyone. The soft music, the pleasant warmth, the soft leather upholstery. He could feel fatigue overwhelming him. With a sigh he closed his eyes and a moment later was deeply and soundly asleep.

* * *



The rusty iron stairs were narrow and led steeply downward. He felt the wall for the light switch. Seconds later the 25-watt bulb lit the room with a dim glow. Bodenstein could feel his heart pounding. It had taken hours to secure the ruins enough to go inside safely. The excavator from the rescue crew had pushed the debris aside, and using all their strength the men had pried open the deformed steel trap door. One of the men in a protective suit had climbed down the stairs and found that everything below was okay. The cellar had survived the fire unscathed.

Bodenstein waited until Pia, Kr?ger, and Henning Kirchhoff had made it down the steep descent and stood beside him in the tiny room. He put his hand on the handle of the heavy iron door. It swung open without a sound. Warm air came toward him, and there was a sweetish smell of wilted flowers.

“Amelie?” called Bodenstein. A flashlight behind him flared up and illuminated a surprisingly large, rectangular room.

“A former bunker,” Kr?ger said. There was a click when he turned on the light switch, and a fluorescent tube on the ceiling sprang to life, humming and flickering. “The electrical lines were laid separately so that in case of damage to the building the cellar would still have power.”

The cellar room was sparsely furnished. A sofa, a shelf with a stereo. The rear part of the room had been divided off with an old-fashioned folding screen. But no sign of Amelie. Were they too late?

“Shoot,” murmured Kr?ger. “It’s plenty hot in here.”

Bodenstein crossed the room. Sweat was running down his face.

“Amelie?”

He moved the screen aside. His gaze fell on the narrow iron bed. He had to swallow. The girl lying there was dead. Her long black hair was spread like a fan over the white pillow. She was wearing a white dress, and her hands were folded over her stomach. The red lipstick seemed grotesque on the dried lips of the mummy. A pair of shoes stood next to the bed. Wilted flowers in a vase on the nightstand, next to it a bottle of cola. It took a couple of seconds before he realized that the girl on the bed could not be Amelie.