She tore the short-haired wig off her head and dropped it carelessly on the floor. Her hands were shaking too much to untie the red ribbon that fastened the roll, so she impatiently grabbed some scissors and snipped through it. With heart pounding she unrolled the paintings on her desk. There were eight of them, and it took her breath away when she saw with horror what they depicted. That miserable shithead had captured on canvas the events of September 6, 1997, with true photographic precision; not the slightest detail had escaped him. Even the silly lettering and the stylized little pig on the dark green T-shirts were clearly visible. She bit her lips and the blood roared in her ears. Suddenly the memory came vividly alive. The humiliating feeling of defeat as well as the wild satisfaction at the sight of Laura, who finally got what she deserved. That damned arrogant slut! She looked at the other pictures, smoothing them out with both hands. Naked panic gripped her, just as it had then. Disbelief, bewilderment, cold rage. She straightened up and forced herself to take a deep breath. Three times, four. Be calm. Think it over. This was a disaster, it was the absolute maximum credible accident. It could completely destroy all her careful planning, and she couldn’t let that happen. With trembling fingers she lit a cigarette. It was unthinkable what would have happened if the cops got hold of these pictures. It made her queasy. What should she do now? Were these really all the pictures, or had Thies painted more? She couldn’t take the risk, there was too much at stake. Quickly she smoked the cigarette all the way down to the filter, and then she knew what to do. She’d already had to make all the decisions herself. With fierce determination she grabbed the scissors and cut the paintings, one after the other, into little pieces. Then she put them through the shredder, took out the sack of confetti, and grabbed her bag. This was no time to lose her nerve. Everything was going to be fine.
* * *
Detective Superintendent Kai Ostermann felt discouraged. He had to admit that the coded writing in Amelie’s diary was an insoluble riddle to him. At first he’d thought it would be easy to decipher the hieroglyphics, but now he was about to give up. He simply couldn’t see any system. Obviously she had used different symbols for the same letters, which made it almost impossible to crack the code. Behnke came in the door.
“Well?” Ostermann asked. Bodenstein had assigned Behnke to question Claudius Terlinden, who had been sitting in one of the detention cells since that morning.
“Refuses to say a word, that arrogant bastard.” In frustration Behnke sat down heavily on the chair behind his desk and clasped his hands behind his head. “It’s easy enough for the boss to say that I’m supposed to pin something on this guy—but what? I tried to provoke him, I was friendly, I threatened him—but he just sits there and smiles. What I’d really like to do is punch him in the mouth.”
“That probably wouldn’t do any good.” Ostermann sent his colleague a quick look. That got Behnke’s hackles up.
“You don’t have to remind me that I’m up shit creek!” he yelled, pounding his fist so hard on the desk that the keyboard jumped. “I’m starting to think the old man wants to harass me so much that I’ll quit!”
“That’s bullshit. Besides, he didn’t tell you to nail him. He just said to soften him up a little.”
“Precisely. Then he’ll waltz in here with his crown princess and make it look easy!” Behnke was red in the face with rage. “All I ever get to do is the shit work.”
Ostermann almost felt sorry for Behnke. He’d known him since the police academy; they’d done patrols together and both had joined the Special Assignment Unit until Ostermann lost his lower leg during a deployment. Behnke had stayed in the SAU a couple more years, then he was transferred to the criminal police in Frankfurt and landed right in K-11, in the very top echelon of the police hierarchy. He was a good cop. Or had been. Later, when everything went south in his private life, his work also suffered. Behnke rested his head in his hands and fell into a listless brooding.
Then the door flew open. Kathrin Fachinger marched in, her cheeks glowing with anger.
“Tell me, have you completely lost it?” she snapped at her colleague. “You leave me alone with that guy and just take off! What’s the deal here?”
“You always think you can do better than me, anyway!” Behnke said sarcastically. Ostermann was looking back and forth between the two combatants.
“We had a strategy,” Fachinger reminded her colleagues. “And then you just roar off. But just imagine, he did talk to me.” Her voice took on a triumphant undertone.
“Oh, that’s just great! Why don’t you run to the boss and tell him, you crazy bitch!”
“What did you say?” Fachinger loomed up before him, her hands on her hips.
“Crazy bitch is what I said!” Behnke repeated loudly. “And I’ll make it even plainer: You’re an ambushing, egotistical little bitch! You snitched on me, and I’m never going to forget it!”
“Frank!” Ostermann shouted, getting up.
“Are you threatening me?” Fachinger wasn’t about to let herself be intimidated. She gave a contemptuous laugh. “I’m not afraid of you, you … you blowhard! All you know how to do is talk big and let everyone else do the work! No wonder your wife left you. Who’d want to be married to somebody like you?”
Behnke had turned beet red. He clenched his fists.
“People!” Ostermann admonished them anxiously. “Just cool it!”
It was too late. Behnke’s long bottled up rage at his younger colleague went off like an explosion. He jumped up, knocked over his chair, and gave Fachinger a strong shove. She crashed against the cabinet, and her glasses flew onto the floor. Behnke deliberately stomped on them, crunching the shattered glass under the heel of his shoe. Kathrin got to her feet.
“Well,” she said with a cold grin. “That’s it for you, my dear colleague.”
Behnke totally flipped out. Before Ostermann could stop him, he threw himself at Kathrin and punched her in the face. Reflexively her knee shot up and hit him in the balls. With a stifled moan of pain Behnke hit the floor. At that moment the door opened, and Bodenstein appeared in the doorway. His gaze shifted from Fachinger to Behnke.
“Can somebody please tell me what’s going on here?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
“He attacked me and knocked my glasses off,” said Kathrin Fachinger, pointing at the mangled glasses frames. “I was just defending myself.”
“Is that true?” Bodenstein looked at Ostermann, who raised his hands helplessly and, after a brief glance at his colleague huddled on the floor, nodded.
“Okay,” said Bodenstein. “I’ve had enough of this kindergarten. Behnke, get up.”
Frank Behnke obeyed. His face was contorted with pain and hatred. He opened his mouth, but Bodenstein didn’t let him speak.
“I thought you understood what Dr. Engel and I told you,” he said icily. “You’re suspended, effective immediately.”
Behnke stared at him mutely, then went to his desk and grabbed his jacket hanging over the back of the chair.
“Leave your badge and service weapon here,” Bodenstein commanded.
Behnke unfastened his weapon and tossed it and his badge carelessly on the desk.
“All of you can kiss my ass,” he gasped, then squeezed past Bodenstein and left. For a moment there was complete silence.
“What did the interview with Terlinden turn up?” said Bodenstein to Fachinger, as if nothing had happened.
“He owns the Ebony Club in Frankfurt,” she replied. “As well as the Black Horse and the other restaurant that Andreas Jagielski manages.”
“What else?”
“That’s all I could get out of him. But I think that explains a few things.”
“You do? What?”
“Claudius Terlinden wouldn’t have had to support Hartmut Sartorius financially if he hadn’t personally destroyed the man’s livelihood by opening the Black Horse,” Fachinger replied. “In my opinion he is anything but a good Samaritan. First he ruined Sartorius, then he prevented him from losing the property and leaving Altenhain. I bet he has more people in the village under his thumb, like this Jagielski, who he put in charge of his restaurants. It reminds me a little of the mafia: He protects them, and in return they keep their mouths shut.”
Bodenstein looked at his youngest colleague and frowned in thought. Then he nodded.
“Well done,” he said. “Very good.”
* * *
Tobias jumped up from the couch as if electrocuted when the front door opened. Nadia came in. She had a plastic bag in one hand and was trying to get her coat off with the other.
“So?” Tobias helped her off with her coat and hung it in the wardrobe. “Did you find anything?” After waiting tensely for hours he could hardly contain his curiosity.
Nadia went into the kitchen, put the bag on the table, and sat down.
“Not a thing.” Tired, she shook her head, undid her ponytail, and ran her hand through her hair. “I searched the whole damn house. I’m beginning to think that Amelie made up these paintings.”
Tobias stared at her. He was deeply disappointed.
“But that can’t be!” he countered vehemently. “Why would she make up something like that?”
“No idea. Maybe she wanted to make herself seem important,” said Nadia with a shrug. She looked exhausted, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. The whole situation seemed to be making her equally discouraged.
“Let’s eat first,” she said, reaching for the bag. “I brought home some Chinese.”
Although Tobias hadn’t eaten all day, the appetizing aroma coming from the paper boxes didn’t tempt him. How could he think about eating? Amelie hadn’t made up the story with the paintings—she would never do that. She wasn’t the sort of girl who liked to show off. Nadia was totally wrong about that. He looked on silently as she opened one container, separated the chopsticks, and began to eat.
“The police are looking for me,” he said.
“I know that,” she said, her mouth full. “I’m doing everything I can to help you.”
Tobias bit his lip. Damn it, he really couldn’t blame Nadia for anything. But it was making him crazy to be consigned to doing nothing. Most of all he wanted to go out and look for Amelie on his own. But they would arrest him on the spot as soon as he set foot outside the door. There was nothing to do but be patient and trust Nadia.
* * *