The Ice Queen: A Novel (29 page)

“What’s going on?” she asked. Ostermann briefly told her about the newspaper article and Bodenstein’s reaction. After a vehement altercation with Nierhoff behind closed doors, the boss had flown into a fit of rage—which was so unlike him—and accused one colleague after another of leaking information to the press.

“I’m sure it wasn’t any of us,” said Ostermann. “By the way, the report from the interview with a Mrs. Auguste Nowak is on your desk. She was just here.”

“Thanks.” Pia put down her bag on the desk and glanced over the transcript that the duty officer had made. There was also a yellow Post-it stuck to her telephone with the message “Urgent: Call back!” and a phone number with the prefix 0048, the country code for Poland. Miriam. Both would have to wait. She went to Bodenstein’s office. Just as she was about to knock, the door was flung open and Behnke stormed out with a face as pale as wax. Pia went in.

“What’s the matter with him?” she asked. Bodenstein didn’t answer. He didn’t look like he was in a very good mood.

“What was all that about the hospital?” he asked.

“Marcus Nowak, a contractor from Fischbach,” said Pia. “He was attacked by three men in his office and tortured. Unfortunately, he won’t say a word about it, and no one in his family seems to have any idea who or what might be behind the attack.”

“Pass it on to the colleagues in K-Ten.” Bodenstein rummaged in a desk drawer. “We have enough to do.”

“Hold on,” Pia said. “I’m not finished. In Nowak’s office, we found a summons from our colleagues in Kelkheim. He’s being charged with inflicting negligent bodily harm upon Vera Kaltensee.”

Bodenstein stopped what he was doing and looked up. His interest was instantly piqued.

“In the past few days, the Kaltensees’ telephone number at Mühlenhof was dialed from Nowak’s phone at least thirty times. Last night, he talked on the phone with our friend Elard for over half an hour. It could be a coincidence, but I find it odd that the name Kaltensee is popping up again.”

“I agree.” Bodenstein rubbed his chin in thought.

“Remember when they said the presence of the company security people at the estate was because they’d had a break-in?” Pia asked. “Maybe Nowak was behind it.”

“We’re damn well going to find out.” Bodenstein grabbed the phone and punched in a number. “I’ve got an idea.”

*   *   *

A good hour later, Bodenstein parked in front of the door of the estate of Countess Gabriela von Rothkirch in the Hardtwald area of Bad Homburg, probably the most exclusive residential area in the lower Taunus region. Behind high walls and thick hedges, the real high society lived in opulent villas set in parklike grounds of quite a few acres each. After Cosima and her siblings had all moved out and her husband had died, the countess lived alone in the magnificent eighteen-room villa. An old caretaker and his wife lived in the adjacent guest house. By now they were more like friends than employees. Bodenstein had a high regard for his mother-in-law. She led an astoundingly modest life, donating vast sums to various family foundations; unlike Vera Kaltensee, she did this discreetly and without a lot of fuss. Bodenstein led Pia around the house to the spacious garden. They found the countess in one of her three greenhouses, busily repotting tomato seedlings.

“Ah, there you are,” she said with a smile. Bodenstein had to grin at the sight of his mother-in-law in faded jeans, a baggy knit jacket, and floppy hat.

“My God, Gabriela.” He kissed her on both cheeks before he introduced her to Pia. “I had no idea that your interest in growing vegetables had assumed such alarming proportions. What do you do with all this stuff? You can’t possibly eat everything yourself.”

“What we don’t eat we give to the Bad Homburg food bank,” replied the countess. “So my hobby does some good at least. But tell me—what’s going on?”

“Have you ever heard the name Marcus Nowak?” Pia asked.

“Nowak, Nowak.” The countess stuck a knife into one of the sacks lying beside her on the workbench and ripped through the plastic. Rich black soil spilled onto the bench, and Pia involuntarily thought of Monika Krämer. She exchanged glances with her boss and knew that he’d made the same association. “Yes, of course! That’s the young contractor who restored the old mill at Mühlenhof two years ago, after Vera won approval from the monuments preservation office.”

“That’s very interesting,” said Bodenstein. “Something must have happened, because she lodged a complaint against him for inflicting negligent bodily harm.”

“I heard about that,” said the countess. “There was apparently an accident and Vera was injured.”

“What happened?” Bodenstein opened his jacket and loosened his tie. In the greenhouse it was at least eighty-two degrees, with 90 percent humidity. Pia was jotting things down in her notebook.

“I don’t remember exactly. Sorry.” The countess set the plants she’d finished repotting on a board. “Vera doesn’t like to talk about her failures. At any rate, after the episode, she fired her assistant, Dr. Ritter, and filed several lawsuits against Nowak.”

“Who’s Dr. Ritter?” Pia asked.

“Thomas Ritter was for years Vera’s personal assistant and gofer,” explained Gabriela von Rothkirch. “An intelligent, good-looking man. After she fired him without notice, Vera bad-mouthed him everywhere, so he can’t find a job anywhere.” She paused to giggle. “I always thought she had a thing for him. But my God, that boy was clever, and Vera is an old bag. This Nowak, by the way, is also a rather handsome guy. I’ve seen him two or three times.”

“He
was
a handsome guy,” said Pia, correcting her. “Earlier this morning, he was attacked and badly beaten. In the doctors’ opinion, he was tortured. His right hand is so shattered that they might have to amputate.”

“Good Lord!” The countess stopped her work, horrified. “That poor man!”

“We have to find out why Vera Kaltensee sued him.”

“Then you’d probably better talk to Dr. Ritter. And to Elard. As far as I know, they were both present when it happened.”

“Elard Kaltensee isn’t likely to tell us anything negative about his mother,” Bodenstein said, taking off his jacket. Sweat was running down his face.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” replied the countess. “Elard and Vera aren’t very fond of each other.”

“Then why does he live under the same roof with her?”

“Probably because it’s comfortable,” Gabriela von Rothkirch speculated. “Elard is not a person who seizes the initiative. He’s a brilliant art historian, and his opinion is highly regarded in the art world, but in real life he’s rather inept—not a man of action like Siegbert. Elard likes to take the easiest path and remain good friends with everybody. If that doesn’t work, then he evades the issue.”

Pia had gotten the same impression of Elard Kaltensee. He was still her prime suspect.

“Do you think it’s possible that Elard could have killed his mother’s friends?” she asked, although Bodenstein rolled his eyes. But the countess gave Pia a solemn look.

“Elard is hard to read,” she said. “I’m sure he’s hiding something behind his polite facade. You have to keep in mind that he never had a father, no roots to speak of. That bothers him a lot, especially now that he’s reached the age when he would finally realize that perhaps he’ll never find out. And there’s no doubt he could never stand Goldberg and Schneider.”

*   *   *

Marcus Nowak had visitors when Bodenstein and Kirchhoff entered the hospital room an hour later. Pia recognized the young foreman from that morning. He was sitting on the chair next to his boss’s bed, listening to him and avidly taking notes. After he promised to come back that evening and left, Bodenstein introduced himself to Nowak.

“What happened to you?” he asked with no preamble. “And don’t tell me you can’t remember. I won’t accept it.”

Nowak didn’t seem particularly enthused to see Kripo again, so he did what he was good at: He kept his mouth shut. Bodenstein had sat down on the chair while Pia leaned against the windowsill with her notebook open. She looked at Nowak’s badly beaten face. Last time, she hadn’t noticed what a nice mouth he had. Full lips, straight white teeth, and finely chiseled facial features. Bodenstein’s mother-in-law was right. Under normal circumstances, he must have been a rather good-looking man.

“Mr. Nowak,” Bodenstein said, leaning forward, “do you think we’re here for our own amusement? Or don’t you care if the men who may have caused the possible loss of your right hand get off scot-free?”

Nowak closed his eyes and stubbornly said nothing.

“Why did Mrs. Kaltensee sue you for inflicting negligent bodily harm?” asked Pia. “Why did you try to call her about thirty times over the past few days?”

Silence.

“Could it be that the attack on you has something to do with the Kaltensee family?”

Pia noticed that Nowak balled his uninjured hand into a fist when she asked this question. Bingo! She took a second chair, set it on the other side of the bed, and sat down. It almost seemed a little unfair to put this man through the wringer after he’d been through such a horrible experience less than twenty-four hours ago. She knew only too well how terrible it was to be attacked inside your own four walls. Still … she had five murders to solve, and Marcus Nowak could have easily been the sixth dead body.

“Mr. Nowak.” She spoke in a kindly tone. “We want to help you, really we do. This is about much more than the attack on you. Please look at me.”

Nowak obeyed. The expression of vulnerability in his dark eyes moved Pia. There was something appealing about the man, although she didn’t know him at all. Occasionally, she would feel great sympathy and understanding for a person into whose life she had suddenly had a glimpse through her investigations. But that wasn’t good for maintaining the required objectivity. As she continued to ponder why she liked this man who so stubbornly refused to divulge anything, she recalled what had gone through her head that morning when she saw Nowak’s vehicles. On the night of Schneider’s murder, a witness had seen a vehicle with a company name on the side in the driveway of Schneider’s house.

“Where were you on the night of April thirtieth?” she asked out of the blue. Nowak was as surprised by this question as Bodenstein was.

“I was at a dance for the May Day celebration. At the sports field in Fischbach.”

His voice sounded a bit indistinct, which could have been because of the bruises and his split lower lip, but at least he’d said something.

“You weren’t possibly in Eppenhain briefly after the dance?”

“No. What would I be doing there?”

“How long were you at this celebration? Where did you go afterward?”

“I don’t know exactly. Stayed until one or one-thirty. Then I went home,” said Nowak.

“And on the evening of May first? Were you perhaps at Mühlenhof with Mrs. Kaltensee?”

“No,” said Nowak. “Why do you ask?”

“Did you go there to talk to Mrs. Kaltensee? Because she had filed a complaint against you. Or maybe because you wanted to intimidate Mrs. Kaltensee.”

Finally, Nowak emerged from his shell.

“No!” he said emphatically. “I wasn’t at Mühlenhof. And why would I want to intimidate Mrs. Kaltensee?”

“You tell me. We know that you restored the mill there. While you were doing that, there was an accident, and Mrs. Kaltensee obviously blames you for it. What’s going on between you and her? What happened back then? Why did she sue you?”

It took a moment before Nowak came up with an answer.

“She went to the construction site and broke through the freshly laid clay floor, even though I warned her about it,” he finally explained. “She blamed me for her accident, so she didn’t pay my bill.”

“To this day, Vera Kaltensee has never paid you for your work?” Pia asked. Nowak shrugged and stared at his healthy hand.

“How much does she owe you?” Pia asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, come on now, Mr. Nowak. I’m sure you know the amount down to the cent. Don’t give us that. So, how much money does Mrs. Kaltensee owe you for your work on the mill?”

Marcus Nowak retreated into his shell and remained silent.

“A call to our colleagues in Kelkheim is all it’ll take for me to get access to the lawsuit files,” she said. “So?”

Nowak thought about it a moment, then gave a sigh.

“A hundred and sixty thousand euros,” he said reluctantly. “Plus interest.”

“That’s a lot of money. Can you afford to lose that much?”

“No, of course not. But I’ll get the money.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I’ll sue her for the payment.”

It was quiet for a moment in the hospital room.

“Now I’m wondering,” said Pia, “how far you would go to collect your money.”

Silence. Bodenstein’s look signaled her to continue.

“What did the men last night want from you?” Pia went on. “Why did they ransack your office and storeroom and torture you? What were they looking for?”

“Nowak pressed his lips together and looked away.

“The men were in a hurry to get out of there when your grandmother turned on the outside lights,” said Pia. “They ran into a concrete flowerpot. Our colleagues retrieved traces of auto paint that are being analyzed in our lab right now. We’re going to get those guys. But it would go a lot faster if you’d help us.”

“I didn’t recognize any of them,” Nowak insisted. “They wore masks and they blindfolded me.”

“What did they want from you?”

“Money,” he said after a brief pause. “They were looking for a safe, but I don’t have one.”

It was a smooth lie. And Marcus Nowak knew that Pia had seen through it.

“All right.” She got up. “If you don’t want to tell us anything else, that’s up to you. We’ve tried to help you. Maybe your wife can tell us more. She’s on her way down to the station right now.”

“What’s my wife got to do with this?” Nowak sat up with an effort. The thought that the Criminal Police were going to talk to his wife seemed to make him uncomfortable.

“We’ll find out soon.” Pia gave him a brief smile. “Best of luck to you. And if you think of anything else, here’s my card.”

*   *   *