The Ice Queen: A Novel (3 page)

All that had been only six months ago.

Thomas Ritter had planned his revenge with farsightedness and patience, and now the seed was sprouting. He turned over on his back and stretched. He heard the toilet in the bathroom flush for the third time in a row. Marleen suffered from severe morning sickness, but for the rest of the day she felt fine, which meant that so far no one had noticed her pregnancy.

“Are you all right, darling?” he called, suppressing a smug grin. For a woman with her sharp intelligence, she had been surprisingly easy to dupe. She had no idea that after their first night of love he’d replaced her birth-control pills with ineffective placebos. After about three months, he’d found her sitting at the kitchen table when he came home, her face swollen and ugly, with proof of the positive pregnancy test lying in front of her. It had been like hitting all six numbers in the lottery, plus the power ball. Just the thought of how
she
would go wild when
she
found out that
he
was the one who had gotten her beloved crown princess pregnant had been the purest aphrodisiac for him. He’d taken Marleen in his arms, acting at first a bit baffled at how in the world this could have happened but then utterly enthusiastic, and he’d ended up fucking her on the kitchen table.

Marleen came out of the bathroom now, pale but smiling. She crept under the covers and snuggled up to him. Although the smell of vomit prickled his nose, he pulled her closer. “Are you sure that you want to do it?”

“Of course,” she replied seriously. “If it doesn’t bother you to marry a Kaltensee.”

It was obvious that she hadn’t yet spoken about him and her condition with anyone in her family. What a good girl! The day after tomorrow, on Monday at a quarter to ten, they had an appointment at the registry office at city hall. By no later than ten o’clock, he would be an official member of the family that he hated with all his heart. Oh, how he was looking forward to meeting
her
as Marleen’s lawfully wedded husband! He could feel himself getting an erection from his favorite fantasy. Marleen noticed and giggled.

“We have to hurry,” she whispered, “In an hour, I have to be at Grandma’s house and—”

He sealed her lips with a kiss. To hell with Grandma! Soon, soon, soon it would be time; the day of vengeance was near at hand. But they would announce it officially only when Marleen had a seriously fat belly.

“I love you,” he whispered without a hint of a guilty conscience. “I’m crazy about you.”

*   *   *

Dr. Vera Kaltensee, flanked by her sons Elard and Siegbert, was sitting in the place of honor at the center of the sumptuously laid table in the great hall of Schloss Bodenstein, wishing that this birthday would finally be over. Naturally, the entire family had accepted her invitation without exception, but it meant little to her, because the two men in whose company she would have liked to celebrate this birthday were not present. And for this, she had only herself to blame. Just yesterday, she had argued over a trifle with one of them—how childish that he chose to hold it against her and hadn’t come today—while the other she had banished from her life a year ago. Her disappointment over Thomas Ritter’s devious behavior after eighteen years of trusting collaboration still hurt like an open wound. Vera didn’t want to admit it, but in moments of self-reflection she sensed that this pain had the quality of genuine lovesickness. Embarrassing at her age, and yet it was true. For eighteen long years, Thomas had been her closest confidant, her secretary, her Dear Abby, her friend, but, unfortunately, never her lover. Vera wouldn’t have missed any of the men in her life nearly as much as that little traitor. Over the course of her long life, she’d come to the conclusion that the saying “Everyone is replaceable” was wrong. No one was easily replaced, and certainly not Thomas. Only seldom did Vera permit herself a look back. Today, on her eighty-fifth birthday, it seemed perfectly legitimate to recall at least in passing all those who had ultimately left her in the lurch. She had parted from some companions with a light heart, while it had been more difficult with others. She gave a deep sigh.

“Are you all right, Mother?” asked Siegbert, her second eldest, who was seated to her left, instantly concerned. “You’ve hardly touched your food.”

“I’m fine.” Vera nodded and forced herself to give him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me, my boy.”

Siegbert was always so attentive to her welfare and eager for her praise. Sometimes she couldn’t help feeling almost sorry for him. Vera turned her head for a brief glance at her eldest. Elard seemed distant, as he had so often lately, and was clearly not following the conversation around the table. Once again, he had not slept at home the night before. Vera had gotten wind of the rumor that he was having an affair with the talented Japanese painter who was currently being sponsored by the foundation. The woman was in her mid-twenties, almost forty years younger than Elard. But in contrast to plump, cheerful Siegbert, who had not had a hair left on his head by the time he was twenty-five, the years had been kind to Elard. At sixty-three, he almost looked better than ever. No wonder that women of any age kept flocking to him! He fancied himself a gentleman of the old school, eloquent, cultivated, and pleasantly laconic. It was unthinkable to imagine Elard in bathing trunks at the beach. Even in the heat of summer, he preferred to dress all in black, and this attractive combination of nonchalance and melancholy had for decades made him the object of desire for all female creatures in his vicinity. Herta, his wife, had resigned herself to it early on and had accepted without complaint that she would never be able to have a man like Elard all to herself. She had died a few years ago. But Vera knew that things looked quite different behind the handsome facade that her eldest son presented to the world. And for a while now, she had thought she could discern a change in him, an unease that she had never noticed in him before.

She toyed absently with the string of pearls she wore around her neck and let her gaze move on. To the left of Elard sat Jutta, her daughter. She was fifteen years younger than Siegbert, a latecomer and actually not planned. Ambitious and determined as she was, she reminded Vera of herself. After an apprenticeship at a bank, Jutta had studied economics and law, and twelve years ago, she had gone into politics. For the past eight years, she’d held a seat in the state parliament of Hesse, and had also become a party chairwoman. In all probability, she would run in the state elections next year as the top female candidate of her party. Her long-term plan was to win the position of prime minister for Hesse and enter national politics. Vera had no doubt that she would succeed. The Kaltensee name would help her chances considerably.

Yes, Vera could truly count herself lucky with her life and her family. Her three children had all made their way in the world. If only this matter with Thomas hadn’t surfaced. As far back as she could remember, Vera Kaltensee had acted prudently and played her cards right. She had kept her emotions under control and made important decisions with a cool head. Always. Until now. She hadn’t foreseen the consequences and had acted rashly out of anger, wounded pride, and panic. Vera reached for her glass and took a sip of water. A feeling of menace had pursued her ever since that day when she had severed all ties with Thomas Ritter; it hovered over her like a shadow that could not be chased away.

She had always succeeded in circumventing dangerous precipices in her life with farsightedness and courage. She had mastered crises, solved problems, and successfully averted attacks, but now she felt vulnerable and alone. All of a sudden, the huge responsibility for her life’s work, for the company and the family, no longer seemed to her a pleasure, but, rather, a burden that made it hard for her to breathe. Was it merely her age slowly closing in on her? How many years did she have left before her strength deserted her and control inevitably slipped away?

Her eyes swept over her guests, all those happy, carefree, smiling faces; she heard the buzz of voices, the clatter of silverware and plates as if from a great distance. Vera looked at Anita, her dear friend from her youth, who, unfortunately, could no longer go out except in a wheelchair. It was incredible how fragile the resolute Anita, so hungry for life, had become. To Vera, it seemed only yesterday that they had gone to dancing school together, and later to the League of German Girls, like almost all the girls had in the Third Reich. Now Anita sat huddled in her wheelchair like a delicate, pale ghost. Her once-shiny dark brown hair was now nothing but white down. Anita was one of the last of Vera’s friends and companions from her youth; most of them were already pushing up daisies. It was no fun getting old, deteriorating and watching her friends die off one after the other.

Gentle sunlight on the leaves, cooing doves. The lake as blue as the endless sky above the dark forests. The smell of summer, of freedom. Young faces excitedly following the regatta with sparkling eyes. The boys in their white sweaters shoot across the finish line first in their boat. They beam with pride, waving. Vera can see him. He has the tiller in his hand, he’s the captain. Her heart is pounding in her throat as he leaps with a lithe motion onto the quay wall. Here I am, she thinks, waving with both arms; look at me! At first, she thinks he’s smiling at her, so she calls out congratulations to him and holds out her arms. Her heart takes a leap; then he comes straight toward her, smiling, radiant. The disappointment pierces her like a knife when she realizes that his smile is not for her but for Vicky. Jealousy chokes her throat. He hugs the other girl, puts his arm around her shoulder, and vanishes with her into the crowd that is wildly cheering him and his crew. Vera notices the tears in her eyes, the bottomless emptiness inside of her. This insult, this rejection in front of everyone else, is more than she can bear. She turns away, quickens her step. Disappointment turns to fury, to hate. She balls her fists, running down the sandy path along the shore of the lake—she has to get away, away!

Shocked, Vera gave a start. Where did these thoughts suddenly come from, these unwanted memories? With an effort she sneaked a look at her wristwatch. She didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but all the commotion, the stuffy air, and the din of voices had made her feel quite dazed. She forced herself to bring her attention back to the here and now, the way she had done for sixty years. In her life, there had always been a “forward,” no nostalgic looking back at the past. For this reason, she had never let herself be used by any group of exiles or cultural association of citizens expelled from the eastern regions of the Reich after the war. The baroness of Zeydlitz-Lauenburg had vanished for good on the day of her wedding to Eugen Kaltensee. The former East Prussian she had once been never reappeared. And that was as it should be. That part of her life was over and done with.

Siegbert rapped on his glass with his knife, and the hum of conversation stopped; the children were sent to their places.

“What is it?” Vera asked her son in confusion.

“You wanted to make a brief speech before the main course, Mother,” he reminded her.

“Ah, yes.” Vera smiled apologetically, “I was just thinking about something else.”

She cleared her throat and got up from her chair. It had taken her a couple of hours to compose the speech, but now Vera put aside her notes.

“I’m happy that you all have come here to celebrate this day with me,” she said in a firm voice, looking around the room. “On a day like this, most people take a look back at their lives. But I would like to spare you the reminiscences of an old woman; you all know everything there is to know about me anyway.”

As expected, there was a brief surge of laughter. But before Vera could go on, the door opened. A man entered and stood discreetly at the back of the room. Without her glasses, Vera couldn’t tell who it was. To her dismay, she broke out in a cold sweat and her knees felt wobbly. Could that be Thomas? Did he really have the nerve to show up here today?

“Is something wrong, Mother?” asked Siegbert softly.

She shook her head emphatically and quickly reached for her glass. “It’s so lovely to have you all here with me today!” she said. At the same time, she racked her brain about what to do if that man really was Thomas. “Cheers!”

“Three cheers for Mama!” Jutta called out, raising her glass. “Happy birthday!”

They all raised their glasses and gave the guest of honor three cheers, while the man came over to stand next to Siegbert and cleared his throat. Her heart pounding, Vera turned her head. It was the manager of Schloss Bodenstein, not Thomas! She was relieved and disappointed simultaneously, and annoyed by the intensity of her emotions. The French doors of the great hall opened, and the waiters of the Schlosshotel marched in to serve the main course.

“Excuse me for disturbing you,” Vera heard the man say softly to her son. “I have a message for you.”

“Thank you.” Siegbert took the note and unfolded it. Vera saw the blood drain from his face.

“What is it?” she asked in alarm. “What does it say?”

Siegbert looked up.

“A message from Uncle Jossi’s housekeeper.” His voice was toneless. “I’m so sorry, Mother. Especially today. Uncle Jossi is dead.”

*   *   *

Chief Commissioner Dr. Heinrich Nierhoff was not content to summon Bodenstein to his office in order to emphasize his authority as usual. Instead, he went into the conference room of K-11, where Chief Detective Inspector Kai Ostermann and Detective Assistant Kathrin Fachinger were preparing for a hastily scheduled meeting. After Pia Kirchhoff had called everyone that morning, they canceled their plans for the weekend and came in to K-11. On the still-empty whiteboard in the big conference room, Fachinger had printed GOLDBERG in her neat handwriting, and next to it the mysterious number 11645.

“What’s up, Bodenstein?” asked Nierhoff. At first glance, the leader of the Regional Criminal Unit seemed unremarkable; a stocky man in his mid-fifties, graying at the temples, a small mustache, and bland facial features. But this first impression was deceptive. Nierhoff was extremely ambitious and possessed a sure political instinct. For months, rumors had been flying that sooner or later he would be exchanging his chief’s position in the Regional Criminal Unit for the county manager post in Darmstadt. Bodenstein invited his boss into his office and informed him tersely of the murder of David Goldberg. Nierhoff listened in silence and said nothing when Bodenstein was done. At the police station, it was well known that the chief commissioner loved the limelight and enjoyed holding press conferences in the grand manner. Ever since the media circus surrounding the suicide of Chief District Attorney Hardenbach two years before, no one of such prominence had been murdered in the Main-Taunus district. Bodenstein, who had actually expected that Nierhoff would be excited at the prospect of a storm of clicking digital cameras, was a bit surprised by his boss’s restrained reaction.