The Ice Queen: A Novel (38 page)

“Would you agree to two special commissions?” Pia asked at that moment. Bodenstein glanced over at her.

“Depends who’s leading them,” he said. “But the situation is very confused. What’s this really all about?”

“It’s about the murders of three old people, a young woman, and a man,” Pia said, thinking out loud.

Bodenstein stepped on the brake at the top of Berger Strasse to allow a group of young people to cross the street.

“We’re asking the wrong questions,” he said, considering what Katharina Ehrmann might have to do with Ritter. There was something going on between them; that was obvious. Maybe she knew him from before, when he was still working for Vera Kaltensee.

“I wonder if she’s still friends with Jutta Kaltensee?” Bodenstein asked. Pia understood at once who he was talking about.

“Why is that important?”

“Where did Ritter get the information about Robert Watkowiak’s biological father? That has to be a family secret that only very few people know about.”

“Then why would Katharina Ehrmann know about it?”

“She was always so close to the family. Eugen Kaltensee even transferred some shares in the company to her.”

“Let’s go visit Vera Kaltensee one more time,” Pia suggested. “We’ll ask her what was in the trunk and why she lied to us about Watkowiak. What have we got to lose?”

Bodenstein said nothing, then shook his head.

“We have to be very careful,” he said. “Even if she can’t stand Ritter, I don’t want to risk a sixth dead body just because we ask a few rash questions. You weren’t altogether wrong about Ritter treading on thin ice.”

“The guy thinks he’s as invulnerable as Vera Kaltensee,” Pia retorted. “He’s blind with vindictiveness, and he seems to think that any means are justified to get back at the Kaltensees. What a repulsive creep. And he’s cheating on his pregnant wife with this Katharina Ehrmann. I guarantee it.”

“I think so, too,” Bodenstein conceded. “Still, he won’t do us any good as a corpse.”

*   *   *

The big noon rush was over when Pia and Bodenstein walked into Zaika, and except for a few businesspeople, the restaurant was almost empty. The K-11 team had gathered around one of the big tables in a corner of the Mediterranean-themed room and were already eating. Only Behnke wore a peeved expression as he sat there sipping from a glass of water.

“I have some good news, boss,” Ostermann began when they had seated themselves at the table. “From the DNA profile that was established from a hair found in the apartment where Monika Krämer and Watkowiak were shacking up, the computer has spewed out a trace-trace hit. Looking at older cases, our colleagues from the NCP have analyzed and stored trace evidence. This perp had something to do with a previously unsolved murder in Dessau on October seventeenth, 1990, and an aggravated assault in Halle on March twenty-fourth, 1991.”

Pia noticed Behnke’s hungry look. Why hadn’t he ordered anything to eat?

“Anything else?” Bodenstein grabbed the pepper mill to season his carpaccio.

“Yes. I’ve found out something about Watkowiak’s shirt,” Ostermann continued. “Shirts of this brand are produced exclusively for a men’s clothing store on Schillerstrasse in Frankfurt. The manager was very cooperative and provided me with copies of receipts. White shirts, size forty-one, were sold exactly twenty-four times between March first and May fourth.” He made a dramatic pause in order to ensure the full attention of all those present. “And a certain Anja Moormann purchased five white shirts, size forty-one, on behalf of Vera Kaltensee on April twenty-sixth.”

Bodenstein stopped chewing and straightened up.

“Well, she’s going to have to show us those shirts.” Pia pushed her plate over to Behnke. “Here, take it. I can’t eat any more.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, polishing off the remaining half a pizza in less than sixty seconds, as if he hadn’t eaten for days.

“What about the neighbors of Goldberg and Schneider?” Bodenstein looked at Behnke, who was still chewing.

“I showed the man who saw the vehicle at Schneider’s three different logos,” replied Behnke. “He didn’t hesitate for a second and pointed to Nowak’s. He also pinned down the time. He went out with his dog at ten minutes to one, after some movie on ARTE was over. At ten after one, he returned; the vehicle was gone and the gate to the driveway was closed.”

“Nowak was stopped at a quarter to twelve by our colleagues in Kelkheim,” said Pia. “He could have easily driven back to Eppenhain after that.”

Bodenstein’s cell rang. He glanced at the display and excused himself for a minute.

“If we haven’t made any progress by tomorrow, we’re going to be saddled with twenty more colleagues.” Ostermann leaned back. “And I’m not looking forward to that.”

“None of us is,” said Behnke. “But we can’t just pull a perp out of a hat.”

“But now we have more leads and can ask more relevant questions.” Pia watched her boss through the picture window. He was pacing up and down with his cell at his ear. Who could he be talking to? Normally, he never left the room to answer the phone. “And do we know any more about the knife that was used to kill Monika Krämer?”

“Yes, we do.” Ostermann shoved his plate aside and searched through the files he’d brought along until he found a specific one among the colored plastic folders that were an important component of his filing system. As disheveled as he might seem with his ponytail, nickel-framed glasses, and casual clothes, Ostermann was an extremely organized person.

“The murder weapon was an Emerson karambit fixed blade with a skeletonized handle, a copy of an Indonesian design. It’s a tactical combat knife used for self-defense. Emerson is an American manufacturer, but the knife can be ordered from various Internet shops, and this model has been on the market since 2003. The serial number had been filed off.”

“That rules out Watkowiak as the perp,” said Pia. “So it could be a hit man. I’m afraid the boss is right.”

“What am I right about?” Bodenstein returned to the table and launched into the rest of his chicken curry, now only lukewarm. Ostermann repeated the info about the knife.

“Okay.” Bodenstein wiped his lips with the napkin and gave his colleagues a somber look.

“Now listen up. Starting right now, I expect a hundred percent more effort from all of you! We got a reprieve of one more day from Nierhoff. So far, we’ve been more or less fishing in the dark, but now that we have a few concrete leads—”

His cell rang again. This time, he took the call and listened for a moment. His expression darkened.

“Nowak has disappeared from the hospital,” he informed the team.

“He was supposed to have another operation this afternoon,” said Hasse. “Maybe he got scared and took off.”

“How do you know that?” Bodenstein asked.

“We took a saliva sample from him this morning.”

“Did he have any visitors when you were with him?” Pia asked.

“Yes,” Fachinger said. “His Oma and his father were there.”

Pia was surprised once again that Nowak’s father would have visited his son in the hospital.

“A big strong guy with a mustache?” she asked.

“No.” Fachinger shook her head uncertainly. “He didn’t have a mustache, just a three-day stubble. And gray hair, a little longer—”

“Okay, great.” Bodenstein shoved his chair back and jumped up. “That was Elard Kaltensee. When were you going to tell me that?”

“There’s no way I could have known,” Fachinger said defensively. “Should I have asked for his ID?”

Bodenstein said nothing, but his look spoke volumes. He handed Ostermann a fifty-euro bill.

“Pay the bill, okay?” he said, pulling on his jacket. “Somebody drive out to Mühlenhof and get the housekeeper to show you the five shirts. Then I want to know when, where, and from whom the knife was purchased that was used to kill Monika Krämer. And everything about Nowak’s father’s bankruptcy, and whether there was really a connection with the Kaltensee family. Find Vera Kaltensee. If she’s in some hospital, post two uniforms outside her door to check who comes to visit her. We’re also going to stake out Mühlenhof round the clock. Oh, yes: Katharina Ehrmann, née Schmunck, lives somewhere in the Taunus and possibly has Swiss citizenship. Got it?”

“Yep, great.” Even Ostermann, who normally never grumbled, was anything but thrilled about the workload he’d been given. “How much time do we have?”

“Two hours,” replied Bodenstein without a trace of a smile. “But only if one hour isn’t enough.”

He had almost reached the door when he thought of something else.

“What about that search warrant for Nowak’s company?”

“We’re getting it today,” said Ostermann. “And an arrest warrant.”

“Good. Send the photo of Nowak to the press and get it shown on TV today. Don’t give out any information about why we’re looking for him. Make up something. Say that he needs medication urgently or something like that.”

*   *   *

“Who called before?” Pia asked when they were in the car. Bodenstein considered for a moment whether to tell her or not.

“Jutta Kaltensee,” he said at last. “She supposedly has something important to tell me and wants to meet me this evening.”

“Did she say what it was about?”

Bodenstein was staring straight ahead and stepped on the gas when they passed the Hofheim city limits sign. He still hadn’t reached Cosima to ask her how her lunch with Jutta Kaltensee had gone. What sort of game was this woman playing? He didn’t feel good at the thought of being alone with her. But he urgently needed to ask her a few questions—about Katharina Ehrmann and about Thomas Ritter. Bodenstein rejected the idea of asking Pia to go along. He wanted to deal with Jutta by himself.

“Earth to Bodenstein!” shouted Pia at that moment, giving him a start.

“Excuse me?” he asked in annoyance. He noticed the strange look on his colleague’s face, but he hadn’t heard her question.

“I’m sorry, I was thinking about something. Jutta and Siegbert Kaltensee were playacting that evening when I spoke to them at Mühlenhof.”

“Why would they do that?” Pia was astonished.

“Maybe to distract me from what Elard had said earlier.”

“And what was that?”

“Yeah, that’s the big question. I have no idea!” Bodenstein exclaimed with unaccustomed impatience, regretting his outburst at once. He wasn’t giving the case a hundred percent of his attention. If he hadn’t spent so much time on the phone with Jutta Kaltensee recently, he might have remembered more of the conversation at Mühlenhof. “It was something about Anita Frings. Elard Kaltensee told me that his mother was informed at seven-thirty about her disappearance and a couple of hours later about her death.”

“You didn’t mention that to me,” said Pia, clear reproach in her voice.

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you didn’t. So that means that Vera Kaltensee had enough time to send her people to Taunusblick to clear out Anita Frings’s room.”

“But I did tell you,” Bodenstein insisted. “I’m positive I did.”

Pia said nothing, thinking hard about whether it was true.

At the hospital, Bodenstein parked the car in the driveway out front, ignoring the protests of the young man at the information desk. The officer who was supposed to be guarding Nowak confessed sheepishly that he’d let himself be duped twice. About an hour ago, a doctor had shown up and taken Nowak away for an examination. One of the station nurses had even helped him push the bed into the elevator. Since the doctor had assured him that Nowak would be back from radiology in twenty minutes, the officer had sat back down on the chair outside the room.

“I thought my instructions were crystal clear. You were not supposed to let him out of your sight,” Bodenstein said, his voice icy. “Your mistake will have consequences for you, I promise you that.”

“What about the visitors this morning?” Pia asked. “What made you think that the man was Nowak’s father?”

“The Oma said he was her son,” replied the officer sullenly. “That was good enough for me.”

The hospitalist, whom Pia knew from her first visit, came down the hall and informed them that Nowak was in grave danger. In addition to the seriously injured hand, he had also suffered a stab wound to the liver, and that was nothing to joke about.

Unfortunately, the information supplied by the officer who was supposed to watch Nowak wasn’t particularly helpful.

“The doctor was wearing one of those green outfits with a cap,” he said lamely.

“Jesus! What did he look like? Old, young, fat, thin, bald, full beard—you must have noticed something!” Bodenstein was just about to lose it. He’d wanted to avoid a situation like this, especially since Nicola Engel now seemed to be lurking in the background, eager to see him fail.

“He was around forty or fifty, I would say,” the officer finally recalled. “And I think he was wearing glasses.”

“Forty? Fifty? Or sixty? Or maybe it was a woman?” Bodenstein asked sarcastically. They were standing in the lobby of the hospital, and the SWAT team had just arrived. In front of the elevators, the squad leader gave his officers their instructions. Radios were blaring and curious patients were squeezing between the policemen, who were now setting off to search the building floor by floor, looking for the vanished Marcus Nowak. The patrol that Pia had sent to Nowak’s house called in to report that he hadn’t showed up there.

“Stay near the company door and call in right before your shift ends so we can send over your relief,” Pia told her colleagues.

Bodenstein’s cell rang. They’d found the empty hospital bed in an examination room on the ground floor, right next to an emergency exit. All hope of finding Nowak somewhere in the building was gone. A trail of blood led out of the room, along the hall, and out the door.

“So that’s it, then.” In resignation, Bodenstein turned to Pia. “Come on, let’s go see Siegbert Kaltensee.”

*   *   *

Elard Kaltensee was a brilliant theoretician but not a man of action. In his lifetime, he had dodged making decisions, leaving that task to others around him, but this time the situation had called for his immediate action. It had been hard for him to put his plan into action: It was no longer just about him, and only he could put an end to this situation once and for all. At sixty-three—no, sixty-four, he corrected himself—he had finally found the courage to take matters into his own hands. He had gotten the confounded trunk out of his house, closed the Kunsthaus temporarily, and sent all the employees home. Then he’d booked his flight online and packed his bags. And strangely enough, he suddenly felt better than ever before, even without the pills. He felt years younger, decisive and energetic. Elard Kaltensee smiled. Maybe it was a plus that everyone took him for a coward and no one would believe him capable of something like this. Except for the lady cop, but even she had been lured onto a sidetrack. A patrol car was parked in front of the gate at Mühlenhof, but not even this unexpected obstacle could deter him. If he was lucky, the police wouldn’t know about the shortcut to the estate via Lorsbach and through the Fischbach valley, so he’d be able to slip into the house unnoticed. One encounter with the police per day was plenty for him. Besides, he’d have a lot of explaining to do about the blood on the passenger seat of his car. Something caught his attention and he turned up the radio. “—and the police are asking for your help. Since this afternoon, Marcus Nowak, thirty-four, has been missing. He disappeared from the hospital in Hofheim and is in urgent need of vital medications.…” Elard Kaltensee turned off the radio and smiled with satisfaction. Let them look for him. He knew where Nowak was. Nobody would find him anytime soon; he had made sure of that.