The Ice Queen: A Novel (22 page)

*   *   *

Pia spread out the paper from the retirement home’s shredder on the kitchen table and got to work. She meticulously smoothed out one strip of paper after another, placing them next to one another, but the damned strips kept curling up under her fingers and stubbornly refused to reveal their secret. Pia felt herself starting to sweat. Patience had never been her strong point, and after a while she had to admit that what she was doing was pointless. She scratched her head as she considered how to make the work easier. Her eyes fell on her four dogs, then on the clock. It would be better if she took care of the dogs before she threw a fit and stuffed the whole pile of shredded paper into the trash can. Actually she’d planned to clean up the pile of dirty shoes, jackets, buckets, and horse halters on the porch this evening, but that would have to wait.

Pia marched to the stable, mucked out the stalls, and scattered fresh straw on the floor. Then she brought in the horses from the paddock. Soon it would be time to harvest the hay, if the weather didn’t thwart her plans. And the grassy borders along her driveway hadn’t been mowed in a long time. When she opened the door to the feed room, two cats appeared out of nowhere. They had decided a couple of months before to take up immediate residence at Birkenhof. The black tomcat jumped up on the shelf over the workbench where Pia mixed the feed. Before she could stop him, he’d knocked off a whole row of bottles and cans and then leaped down to find a new hiding place.

“You rascal!” she shouted after the cat. She bent down, and when she picked up the bottle of Mane ’n Tail spray, she had a bright idea. She hurried to feed the dogs, cats, chickens, and horses and then ran back into the house. She emptied the rest of the spray into the sink and filled the bottle with water. Then she placed the strips of paper on a kitchen towel, combed through them with her fingers, and sprayed them with water. Finally she covered them with another towel. Maybe her efforts would be fruitless, maybe not. But the antics of the director’s secretary at Taunusblick had awakened her mistrust. She wondered if the woman had noticed that somebody had emptied the shredder. Pia giggled at the thought and went to look for her steam iron.

In the past, when she was married to Henning, everything had always been in its proper place, and the cabinets had all been neatly arranged. Here at Birkenhof, chance ruled. After two and a half years, Pia still hadn’t unpacked some of her moving boxes. Something else always seemed to come up that required her attention. At last, she found the steam iron in the bedroom cabinet and set about ironing the damp paper strips. In the meantime, she ate a helping of microwaved veggie lasagna and a prepackaged salad, both of which gave only the illusion of vitamin-rich, healthy nutrition, but they were still better than a Turkish
döner
or junk food. Putting the strips back together demanded all the patience and fine motor skills that Pia possessed. She kept swearing at her clumsiness and shaky fingers, but at last she did it.

“Thank you, dear tomcat!” she murmured with a grin. The page contained sensitive medical information about Anita Frings, née Willumat, including her last address in Potsdam, before she moved into the Taunusblick. At first, Pia couldn’t understand why the secretary hadn’t simply handed over the page, but then she caught sight of a name. She glanced at the kitchen clock. Not too late to call Bodenstein.

*   *   *

Bodenstein’s cell, which he had turned off, vibrated in the inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled it out and saw his colleague’s name on the display. Elard Kaltensee was still sitting there mute, the empty cognac glass in his hand, staring into the middle distance.

“Yes?” Bodenstein answered in a low voice.

“Boss, I found out something.” Pia Kirchhoff sounded excited. “Have you seen Vera Kaltensee yet?”

“I’m here right now.”

“Ask her how she knew about Anita Frings’s death and when she heard about it. I’m anxious to hear what she says. Vera Kaltensee is listed in Taunusblick’s computer as the person to be informed in an emergency. She was Anita Frings’s legal guardian and also paid for her expenses at the home. Do you recall the housekeeper being surprised that nobody had informed us? I’m certain the director phoned Vera Kaltensee first to get instructions.”

Bodenstein listened closely, wondering how Pia had learned all this.

“Maybe she wasn’t allowed to tell us sooner because the Kaltensees wanted to get Mrs. Frings’s apartment cleared out first for security reasons.”

A car rolled by the window, then a second one. Tires crunched on the gravel.

“I have to go,” Bodenstein said. “I’ll call you back soon.”

Seconds later, the door to the salon opened, and a tall dark-haired woman came in, followed by Siegbert Kaltensee. Elard Kaltensee remained in his easy chair, not even looking up.

“Good evening, Mr. Chief Detective Inspector.” Siegbert Kaltensee held out his hand to Bodenstein, smiling briefly. “May I introduce my sister, Jutta?”

In the flesh, she seemed quite different from the tough politician that Bodenstein knew only from TV. More feminine, prettier, and, yes, unexpectedly sexy. Although she wasn’t really his type of woman, he felt attracted to her at first sight. Before she could even extend her hand, Bodenstein had already undressed her with his eyes and imagined her naked. His indecent thoughts embarrassed him, and he almost blushed under the searching gaze from her blue eyes. She was also assessing him, and she seemed to like what she saw.

“My mother has told me a lot about you. I’m happy to finally meet you in person.” She smiled earnestly, taking Bodenstein’s hand and holding it a moment longer than necessary. “Even though the circumstances are sad.”

“Actually, I’d like to speak with your mother briefly.” Bodenstein made a concerted effort to suppress the internal upheaval that the sight of her had triggered in him. “But your brother told me that she is indisposed.”

“Anita was Mama’s oldest friend.” Jutta Kaltensee released his hand and sighed, looking concerned. “The events of the past few days have really taken a toll on her. I’m getting seriously worried about her. Mama is no longer as robust as she might seem. Who would do such a thing?”

“In order to find out, I’m going to need your help,” Bodenstein said. “Would you have a moment to answer a few questions for me?”

“Of course,” said Siegbert and Jutta Kaltensee in unison. Quite unexpectedly, their brother Elard awoke from his state of listless brooding. He got up, set the empty glass on a little side table, and directed his bloodshot gaze at his siblings, who were both a head shorter than he was.

“Did you know that Goldberg and Schneider were in the SS?” Elard said.

Siegbert Kaltensee reacted with only a brief raise of his eyebrows, but Bodenstein thought he saw an expression of shock on his sister’s face.

“Uncle Jossi a Nazi? Nonsense.” She laughed incredulously and shook her head. “What are you talking about, Elard? You’re not drunk, are you?”

“I haven’t been more sober in years.” Seething with hatred, Elard Kaltensee stared first at his sister, then at his brother. “Maybe that’s why I’m so upset. I can stand this hypocritical family only when I’m drunk.”

Jutta was obviously embarrassed by her elder brother’s behavior. She gave Bodenstein an apologetic look and smiled.

“They both had blood-type tattoos, as was customary in the SS,” Elard Kaltensee went on with a gloomy expression. “And the longer I think about it, the more sure I am that it’s the truth. Especially Goldberg, who—”

“Is that true?” Jutta asked, looking at Bodenstein.

“Yes, it’s true,” he confirmed. “The tattoos were discovered during the autopsies.”

“That just can’t be!” She turned to her brother Siegbert, grabbing his hand as if seeking refuge with him. “I mean, with Herrmann it wouldn’t surprise me, but never Uncle Jossi.”

Elard Kaltensee opened his mouth to protest, but his brother beat him to it.

“Have you found Robert?” Siegbert asked.

“No, we haven’t tracked him down yet.” Following a vague hunch, Bodenstein didn’t mention the brutal murder of Monika Krämer to the Kaltensees. He had noticed that Elard Kaltensee hadn’t bothered to ask about Watkowiak.

“Oh, Mr. Kaltensee,” he said, turning to the professor. “When and from whom did you learn of the death of Anita Frings?”

“My mother got a call this morning,” replied Elard. “Around seven-thirty. Apparently, Anita had disappeared from her room. A couple of hours later, we got the news that she was dead.”

Bodenstein was astounded by this honest answer. Either the professor didn’t have enough presence of mind to lie or he was truly guileless. Maybe Pia Kirchhoff was mistaken and the Kaltensees had nothing whatsoever to do with the old lady’s disappearance.

“How did your mother react?”

Elard Kaltensee’s cell phone rang. He glanced at the display and his expression instantly livened up.

“Please excuse me,” he said. “I have to go to the city. An important appointment.”

And then he left without saying good-bye or shaking hands. Jutta watched him go with a shake of her head. “He goes for girls that are barely half his age—but they tend to wear him out,” she remarked derisively. “After all, he’s no longer the youngest guy in the room.”

“Elard is going through an identity crisis at the moment,” explained Siegbert Kaltensee. “Please forgive his behavior. Ever since he was made professor emeritus six months ago, he’s fallen into a deep funk.”

Bodenstein studied the siblings, who despite their age difference seemed to be very close. Siegbert Kaltensee was difficult to read. Attentive, almost excessively polite—and he gave no clue as to his real feelings about his older brother.

“When did you find out about Mrs. Frings’s death?” asked Bodenstein.

“Elard called me about ten-thirty.” Siegbert frowned at the memory. “I was in Stockholm on a business trip and caught the next plane home.”

His sister sat down on a chair, took a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her blazer, lit one, and inhaled deeply.

“Bad habit.” She winked at Bodenstein conspiratorially. “Just don’t tell my voters about it. Or my mother.”

“I promise.” Bodenstein nodded and smiled at her. Siegbert Kaltensee poured himself a bourbon and also offered Bodenstein a drink, which he once again refused.

“Elard sent me a text message about it,” said Jutta. “I was in a plenary session and had turned off my cell.”

Bodenstein strolled over to a sideboard to look at a number of family photos in silver frames.

“Are there any suspects? Do you have any idea who could have committed the three murders?” Siegbert Kaltensee asked.

Bodenstein shook his head. “Unfortunately, we don’t,” he said. “You knew the three of them well. Who would gain from their deaths?”

“No one at all,” Jutta Kaltensee said, puffing on her cigarette. “They’ve never harmed a living soul. Of course, I remember Uncle Jossi only as an old man, but he was always very nice to me. He never forgot to bring me a present,” she mused with a smile.

“Do you remember that gaucho saddle, Berti?” she asked her brother. He made a face at the mention of his childhood nickname.

“I think I was eight or nine and could hardly lift the thing. But my pony had to bear it.…”

“You were ten,” Siegbert Kaltensee said, correcting his younger sister with affection. “And I was the first to carry you through the living room wearing that saddle—not your pony.”

“That’s right. My big brother always did anything I wanted.”

The emphasis was on the word
anything.
She exhaled cigarette smoke through her nose and gave Bodenstein a smile that conveyed more than idle curiosity. He suddenly felt hot.

“Occasionally,” she added without taking her eyes off him, “I have that sort of effect on men.”

“Jossi Goldberg was a very congenial and friendly person,” Siegbert Kaltensee now commented as he went over to join his sister, holding a glass of bourbon in his hand. The two took turns speaking and gave a completely different picture of Goldberg and Schneider than Elard had done. Everything they said sounded quite natural, and yet Bodenstein felt like a spectator at a play.

“Herrmann and his wife were very dear people.” Jutta Kaltensee stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray. “Really. I liked them a lot. I first got to know Anita in the late eighties. I was very surprised that in his will my father had left her a share in the company. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much about her.”

She stood up.

“Anita was our mother’s oldest friend,” Siegbert Kaltensee added. “They’d known each other since they were little girls, and they never lost contact, although Anita lived in East Germany until the Wall came down.”

“I see.” Bodenstein picked up one of the framed photos and looked at it thoughtfully.

“My parents’ wedding photo.” Jutta Kaltensee came up next to him and picked up another picture. “And here … Oh, Berti, did you know that Mama had framed this one?”

She grinned with amusement, and her brother smiled, too.

“That was after Elard graduated,” he explained. “I hate that picture.”

Bodenstein could see why. Elard Kaltensee was about eighteen in the photo. He was tall, slim, and good-looking in a dark sort of way. His younger brother seemed like a little round piglet in the picture, with sparse, colorless hair and fat cheeks.

“That’s me on my seventeenth birthday.” Jutta tapped on another picture and glanced at Bodenstein. “Slender and sylphlike. Mama dragged me to the doctor back then because she thought I was anorexic. Unfortunately, I have no proclivities in that direction.”

She ran both hands over her hips and giggled. Bodenstein could find no fault with her curves. In astonishment, he realized that with this casual gesture she had succeeded in directing his attention to her body, as if she knew what he was imagining at the sight of her. Bodenstein was still wondering whether she’d done this on purpose as she pointed to another photo. Jutta and a young woman with black hair, both in their mid-twenties, were beaming at the camera. “My best friend, Katharina,” she explained. “And that’s Kati and me in Rome. Everybody called us ‘the twins’ because we were inseparable.”