I Am Your Judge: A Novel (54 page)

“But that’s impossible. The car is neither registered nor insured.” Stadler grimaced, got up, and limped past them to the sideboard in the hall. He opened a drawer and handed them a car key. “Here. That’s the key to Wolfgang’s car. If anyone is driving it, it’s without my knowledge.”

“Could your daughter have had a second key to the house? A key that she may have given to Thomsen or Hartig?” Bodenstein asked.

Stadler had to lean on the sideboard for support.

“My God. Yes, that’s possible,” he admitted. “I’ve been missing one of the front door keys for months.”

“Do you know where Mr. Hartig might be staying?” Pia asked.

Stadler shut the drawer. For a moment, there was an awkward silence.

“No.” Stadler shook his head. “Since Helen’s death, I no longer have any contact with him.”

“But last Friday you talked to him on the phone for over an hour.”

“Yes, that’s true. He wanted to wish me a Happy New Year. And then we spoke for a while.”

“About what?”

“About this whole case.” Stadler made a vague gesture with his hand. “About the fact that you suspected him and had searched his house and studio. And about … Helen. It would have been her twenty-fourth birthday.”

*   *   *

When they left Stadler’s house, the rain was still coming down in buckets.

“I remember the days when I could count on you bringing along an umbrella,” Pia grumbled as she pulled up her hood, though it was too late to do any good.

“I’ve got one in the car. Want me to get it?” Bodenstein offered gallantly.

“Nah, never mind.”

They ran to the car with their shoulders hunched, avoiding the biggest puddles. On the way, Pia’s cell began to ring, and she took the call despite the rainwater running down inside her sleeve.

“You guys might be right,” said Henning in her ear. “Helen Stadler’s body was in a rather bad state, but the upper extremities were almost unscathed. At the time, the case was considered a suicide, which is why the bleeds on the upper arms were probably dismissed as contusions. But it could be that she had been held tightly by someone. She was a petite woman. For a strong man, it would have been no problem to push or throw her over a bridge railing.”

Pia could feel her heart beating faster.

“What about her clothes?”

“They must still be in the police evidence lockup. But there’s one more thing.”

“Yes?”

Bodenstein opened the passenger door for Pia and she slipped inside.

“Even when the death is the result of a suicide, we do a thorough autopsy, as you know. Under the fingernails of the left hand, skin particles were detected, also dismissed at the time. If there is now some suspicion that her death was not a suicide, and that a third party was involved, then you should see to it that the clothes and everything else are sent to the lab.”

“I’ll take care of it right away. Thanks, Henning.”

Bodenstein turned on the engine, then turned up the heat and fan full blast. Pia told him what Henning had said.

They drove through the darkness for a while in silence.

“I’ve got such a funny feeling,” Pia said.

“About what?”

“I’m not sure,” she said with a shrug. “Viewed superficially, Stadler was completely believable. He seemed stunned, but also fairly candid with us. There’s nothing I can point to at the moment. He admitted the thing with the hush money from Gehrke, as well as the call from Hartig. And the story about Mieger’s house sounds credible. He doesn’t seem the least bit flustered or nervous. And yet … I’d like to have him watched.”

“Stadler?” Bodenstein shot her an astonished look. “Why? How are you going to justify that to the state attorney?”

“By saying that he still has the strongest motive of anyone.” She raised her hand when her boss wanted to argue. “I know, I know, he’s not physically capable of the shootings, and he has alibis. And unlike Thomsen and Hartig, he knows nothing about firearms, but all the rest fits so well.”

“Come on, Pia.” Bodenstein shook his head. “Wolfgang Mieger was a colleague of Stadler’s; Helen knew the house and had access to the key. She told Thomsen about the house and gave him the key. He had nothing to lose. That’s what fits. Thomsen is our man, no doubt about it.”

Pia was staring out the window, deep in thought.

“Does Stadler know that Hartig was a doctor at the UCF on Professor Rudolf’s team?” she asked.

“Why didn’t you ask him?” Bodenstein countered.

“Why me?” Pia took her boss’s question as a reproach. “You could have asked him yourself.”

“I assumed you had some reason for not asking him about it.”

“The only reason was that I didn’t think of it.” Suddenly Pia felt overwhelmed by all the questions she’d asked in the last few days without getting any real answers. So many suspicions, speculations, and unexplained circumstances on the one hand, and so many excuses and lies on the other. She could no longer see the forest for the trees.

“You know what I still wonder about?” she said as they passed the Rhein-Main thermal baths. “How did the conviction for tax evasion affect Stadler’s job? Isn’t he an official who works for the building commission of the City of Frankfurt?”

“Could be. In any case, he’s a civil servant.” Bodenstein nodded. “A while ago, the head of a local tax office was removed from the civil service because he had reported false income tax figures over several years. Although it had nothing to do with his job, it was a serious breach of duty.”

“How do you know about things like this?” Pia was baffled.

“I read the papers,” Bodenstein grinned.

“At nine thirty
P.M
. on New Year’s Day, we won’t be able to get hold of anyone in the Frankfurt city offices.” Pia yawned loudly. “And I’m hungry as a bear and dead tired.”

In the middle of her yawn, she stopped, as she suddenly remembered the text message from Kai.

“Shit!” she exclaimed, pulling out her cell phone. “Kai sent me a text earlier when we were at Stadler’s. He found Vivien Stern. Maybe he’s already talked to her on the phone.”

“Would you please stop yawning? It’s contagious,” said Bodenstein as he turned into the parking lot of the police station. “We still have to question Thomsen.”

“Oh, that can wait till tomorrow.” Pia yawned so hard that her jaw made a cracking noise. She opened the passenger door. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“You’re right. Let’s call it a day,” said Bodenstein. “Good night.”

“Good night, boss.” Pia slammed the door and went over to her own car. Bodenstein backed out and turned around. As he pulled out of the lot to the street, he was probably more tired than he’d ever been before in his life.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Condor Flight DE 303 from Mahé
had landed on schedule at 6:30
A.M
. He looked once more at the arrivals board. Terminal 1, Gate C, unchanged.

There was plenty of activity at the Frankfurt Airport as usual, so anyone standing around with a roller bag did not stand out. He took a seat in the coffee shop across from where passengers from Gate C would enter the arrival hall, ordered a cup of coffee, and leafed through a newspaper that had been put out for guests. He looked like a man on a business trip. There were thousands of them in the airport. He scanned the headlines about the Taunus Sniper, but the rest of the paper didn’t interest him much. Over by the gate, four uniformed policemen were posted, and next to them stood the blond policewoman, Ms. Kirchhoff. She looked as tired and burned out as he felt. She must have had a long night, and he was to blame for that.

It would be over soon. He would complete his plans and justice would be served.

He stirred his cup of coffee although there was nothing to stir, since he didn’t take milk or sugar. But from a distance, it looked convincing when someone absentmindedly stirred their coffee while reading the paper. Kirchhoff kept looking around, and her gaze passed over him a few times, but she didn’t seem to recognize him. He was a master of disguise, and his average-looking face was an advantage. He was neither tall nor particularly good-looking, and in public that was the best protection.

A dark-haired woman and an elderly gray-haired man appeared, and the inspector went over to speak with them. The brunette was nervous, wringing her hands, twirling a strand of hair in her fingers, and rummaging in her purse. They were standing apart from the other people waiting, looking at the gate from which the passengers were gradually emerging. Men, women, children, teenagers. Families, somewhat exhausted from the long flight, but suntanned and visibly relaxed after a vacation in the Seychelles. Many were being met by friends and relatives. Waving, laughing, and hugging, glad to see one another. Burmeister and his daughter were almost the last to appear and were immediately greeted by the police. The girl, who he knew was sixteen years old and named Leah, said good-bye to her father. The two embraced and exchanged a few more words. He stroked her cheek and gave her a kiss. Then Leah went over to the dark-haired woman, her mother, and took her by the arm. Burmeister paid no attention to her. Kirchhoff spoke to Burmeister, but he kept staring after his daughter.

He drank the rest of his coffee, which had turned cold. He was having a hard time staying calm. So much depended on the next few minutes. Soon he would know whether he should let plan A play out or switch to plan B.

*   *   *

Burmeister and his daughter were among the last passengers from Condor Flight DE 303 from Mahé to come out of the gate. They pulled roller bags behind them.

“There she is!” called Burmeister’s ex-wife excitedly. She had been waiting together with Pia, and now she waved with both hands. “Leah, Leah, over here!”

The girl was supposed to take the train from Frankfurt to Düsseldorf, but in view of the situation, it would have been irresponsible to allow her to travel alone. Yesterday, her mother had instantly assured the police on the phone that she and her husband would pick up Leah at the gate in person. The three now exited under the curious gaze of several onlookers. They were accompanied by two police officers, who took them to their car and then escorted them to the Wiesbaden Kreuz. Pia didn’t want to take any chances.

Dr. Simon Burmeister was an extremely good-looking man in his early fifties. His thick dark hair was combed back, he was suntanned and sporty, with a striking face and the self-confident air of a man who was thoroughly aware of his social position and physical attributes.

“Dr. Burmeister? I’m Pia Kirchhoff from Kripo in Hofheim,” she introduced herself. “My colleague spoke with you.”

“Right now I need a good cup of coffee. The swill on the plane was disgusting,” he said in lieu of a greeting, and waved to his daughter, who blew him a kiss. Then he briefly scrutinized the two uniformed policemen and finally looked at Pia. “What’s all this about?”

Burmeister grabbed his roller bag and headed straight for the coffee shop, which was located a few meters from the entrance to the arrivals hall. Like it or not, Pia had to chase after him.

“One proper German coffee, please,” he said to the woman, placing a ten-euro bill on the counter. Then he seemed to remember his good manners. “Would you like one, too?”

“No, thank you,” replied Pia indignantly. “Are you ready to listen to me now?”

Burmeister grabbed his cup of coffee and took a sip.

“Ah, that’s better,” he said with a smile, and the laugh lines made his face look friendlier. “So, you now have my undivided attention.”

The news of the sniper’s series of killings had made it all the way to the Seychelles, but Burmeister’s smile vanished, and he even forgot to drink his coffee, when Pia rapidly explained the connections.

“Your name is on the sniper’s hit list, and he has already killed five people,” she concluded. “We need to talk with you, and we want to protect you.”

“You want to
protect
me?” Burmeister regarded her with eyebrows raised. “How do you plan to do that?”

“We’ll assign you two bodyguards who will stay with you until we catch the sniper,” said Pia. “In addition, you would—”

“Out of the question!” Burmeister interrupted her, grabbing his coffee and roller bag and heading for the exit. “That’s all I need! Strangers constantly following me, even to the toilet? Absolutely not. I can take care of myself.”

“Did you hear what I just told you?” Pia stepped in front of him to block his way. “Do you think I came out to the airport at six
A.M
. just for fun?”

“I appreciate your concern,” Burmeister countered. “If I understood you correctly, this sniper has previously always targeted relatives of the people who are on this list. So you’d do better to protect my daughter.”

“That’s precisely why your ex-wife picked up your daughter here today. Who else is close to you? Who could be in danger?”

“There’s no one else who is close to me,” Burmeister said.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Pia persisted.

“No, no one steady.” The doctor finished his coffee and tossed the empty cup in a trash can. “I work long hours and I value my freedom. Now I have to go. I have an appointment at ten at the clinic.”

Pia was getting more and more pissed off because this arrogant jerk wasn’t listening to her.

“Dr. Burmeister, you need to take this matter very seriously,” Pia said. “We think the perpetrator is a relative of a former patient of yours, and he is bent on retaliation. Only twelve hours after she was admitted to your hospital, Kirsten Stadler’s heart and other organs were removed, but the documentation that would have justified this action officially was falsified. Perhaps no one would have noticed, but a doctor from your team was unable to reconcile these actions with his conscience. So he filed a complaint against you and Dr. Rudolf with the hospital administration and the Federal Association of Physicians. Despite all this, the matter was successfully swept under the rug.”

Finally Burmeister looked at her. His expression remained unchanged, but he had turned pale beneath his suntan.