They conferred outside the door to the interview room in which Bodenstein had placed Gregor Lauterbach and his lawyer. He didn’t want a friendly, casual atmosphere; Lauterbach had to be made aware that he couldn’t expect special treatment.
“How do you want to play this?” Commissioner Engel asked.
“I’m going to put him under massive pressure,” said Bodenstein. “We don’t have any time to lose. Amelie has been gone for a week now, and if we expect to find her alive we can’t handle anybody with kid gloves.”
Nicola Engel nodded. They entered the sparsely furnished room, one wall of which was taken up by a one-way mirror. At a table in the middle sat Cultural Minister Lauterbach and his attorney, whom Bodenstein and Kirchhoff knew well; he was not going to make things pleasant for them. Dr. Anders defended prominent citizens, almost without exception, who were involved in murder and manslaughter cases. It didn’t bother him to lose trials, because he wanted most of all to get his name in the papers and hopefully bring his cases up for appeal before the federal supreme court.
Gregor Lauterbach recognized the seriousness of the situation and had decided to cooperate. Pale and visibly shaken, he related in a low voice the events of September 6, 1997. On that evening he had met his pupil Stefanie Schneeberger in the barn of the Sartorius farm to explain to her that he did not intend to start anything with a pupil. Then he went home.
“The next day I heard that Stefanie and Laura Wagner had vanished without a trace,” said Lauterbach. “Someone called us and said the police would direct their suspicions at Stefanie’s friend, Tobias Sartorius, for the murder of both girls. My wife found a bloody tire iron in our garbage can. I then told her that I had spoken with Stefanie because she had been pestering and flirting with me all evening at the village fair. It was clear to both of us that Tobias must have thrown the tire iron into our garbage can after he killed Stefanie in a fit of anger. Daniela wanted to prevent any gossip from focusing on me. She told me to bury the tire iron somewhere. I don’t know why I did it—it was probably a knee-jerk reaction—but I threw the tire iron into Sartorius’s cesspool.”
Bodenstein, Kirchhoff, and Nicola Engel listened quietly. Even Dr. Anders said nothing. With his arms crossed and his lips pursed he stared as if uninvolved into the mirror across from him.
“I … I was convinced that Tobias had beaten Stefanie to death with it,” Lauterbach went on. “He had seen us together, and then she broke up with him. By throwing the tire iron into our garbage can he wanted to cast suspicion on me. Out of revenge.”
Bodenstein looked at him sharply. “You’re lying.”
“No, I am not.” Lauterbach swallowed nervously. He looked over at his lawyer, but Anders was still raptly studying his own image in the mirror.
“We’ve discovered in the meantime that Tobias Sartorius had nothing to do with the murder of Laura Wagner.” Bodenstein spoke more aggressively than was his habit. “We found the mummified corpse of Stefanie. And we have retrieved the tire iron from our evidence room and sent it to the lab. They can probably still get fingerprints off it. In addition, the medical examiner has found traces of foreign DNA in the body. Semen. If it turns out that it’s yours, you’ll be in a hell of a mess, Mr. Lauterbach.”
Gregor Lauterbach fidgeted on his chair and licked his lips nervously.
“How old was Stefanie at the time?” Bodenstein asked.
“Seventeen.”
“And how old were you?”
“Twenty-seven.” Lauterbach was almost whispering. His pale cheeks flushed blood-red and he lowered his eyes.
“Did you have relations with Stefanie Schneeberger on September 6, 1997, or not?”
Lauterbach was petrified.
“You’re bluffing,” said his lawyer, finally coming to his aid. “The girl could have slept with anyone.”
“What clothes were you wearing on the evening of September 6, 1997?” Bodenstein didn’t let himself be put off, and he didn’t take his eyes off Lauterbach, who looked at him in bewilderment and shrugged.
“I submit to you that you were wearing jeans, a light blue shirt over a green T-shirt from the fair committee, and light brown shoes.”
“What does that have to do with the case?” Lauterbach’s lawyer wanted to know.
“Here.” Bodenstein paid no attention to him. He took the printouts of Thies’s paintings from the file and laid them out for Lauterbach, one after the other. “These pictures were painted by Thies Terlinden. He was an eyewitness to both murders, and this was his way of communicating what he saw.”
He tapped his finger on one of the figures.
“Who could that be?” he asked. Lauterbach stared at the pictures and shrugged.
“That’s you, Mr. Lauterbach. You kissed Stefanie Schneeberger at the fair and then you had sexual relations with her.”
“No,” Gregor Lauterbach murmured, white in the face. “No, no, that’s not right, you have to believe me!”
“You were her teacher,” Bodenstein went on, unperturbed. “Stefanie was in a subordinate position to you. What you did is punishable by law, and you suddenly realized that. You had to be afraid that Stefanie would tell someone about it. A teacher who has sex with his underage pupil is finished.”
Gregor Lauterbach shook his head.
“You beat Stefanie to death, threw the tire iron into the cesspool, and went home. There you confessed everything to your wife, and she advised you to keep your mouth shut. Her prediction of what would happen worked, but not entirely. The police did hold Tobias responsible for the murder, and he was arrested and convicted. There was only one small problem: Stefanie’s body had disappeared. Someone must have seen you with Stefanie.”
Lauterbach was still shaking his head.
“You suspected Thies Terlinden of being an accessory. So that he would keep his mouth shut, your wife—as Thies’s doctor—administered drugs to the young man on a regular basis and exerted intense intimidation. That worked fine for eleven years. Until Tobias Sartorius was released from prison. You learned from your acquaintance Andreas Hasse, a member of K-11, that we were interested in the old case, yes, that we had even gotten hold of the old files. And then you persuaded Hasse to remove the relevant interview transcripts from the files.”
“That’s not true,” Lauterbach whispered hoarsely. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.
“Yes, it is,” Kirchhoff now said. “Hasse has already admitted it and as a result has been suspended from duty. If you hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“What is the point of all this?” Dr. Anders put in. “Even if my client had sexual relations with his pupil, the statute of limitations on the assault expired long ago.”
“But not on the murder.”
“I didn’t murder Stefanie!”
“Then why did you talk Mr. Hasse into destroying the interview transcripts?”
“Because … because I … I … I thought it would be better if I kept my name out of all this,” Lauterbach admitted. The sweat was now running down his cheeks. “Could I have something to drink?”
Nicola Engel stood up without a word, left the room, and returned a moment later with a bottle of water and a glass. She set both in front of Lauterbach and sat down. Lauterbach unscrewed the cap, poured himself a glass of water, and drank the whole thing.
“Where is Amelie Fr?hlich?” Kirchhoff asked. “And where is Thies Terlinden?”
“How should I know?” said Lauterbach.
“You knew that Thies witnessed everything back then,” Kirchhoff replied. “You also found out that Amelie was interested in the events of 1997. Both of these facts presented a threat to you. So it’s not hard to imagine that you had something to do with their disappearance. At the time Amelie vanished, you and Terlinden were at the very spot where she was last seen.”
In the harsh fluorescent light Gregor Lauterbach looked like a zombie. His face glistened with sweat, and he was rubbing his palms nervously on his thighs until his lawyer put his hand on his arm.
“Mr. Lauterbach.” Bodenstein stood up, rested his hands on the tabletop, and leaned forward. “We’re going to compare your DNA with that found in the vagina of Stefanie Schneeberger. If it’s a match, you will be charged with statutory rape of an underage pupil, regardless of what your lawyer here says about the time limit running out. Based on these accusations that will be the end of your tenure as cultural minister. I will do my best to bring you to trial, I promise you that. I don’t have to tell you what the press will do when it comes out that because of your silence an innocent young man, a former pupil of yours at that, had to serve ten years in prison!”
He fell silent and let his words sink in. His threatening tone had its effect, and Gregor Lauterbach was shaking all over. What did he fear more—the punishment he was facing or a possible public execution by the press?
“Tonight I’m going to give you one more chance,” said Bodenstein, now in a calm voice. “I will refrain from instigating legal proceedings with the district attorney’s office if you help us find Amelie and Thies. Think it over and discuss it with your lawyer. We’ll now take a ten-minute break.”
* * *
“That bastard,” said Pia, glaring at Lauterbach through the one-way glass. “He did it. He killed Stefanie. And now he’s snatched Amelie, I’m sure of it.”
They couldn’t hear what Lauterbach was discussing with his lawyer, because Dr. Anders had insisted that they turn off the microphone.
“Together with Terlinden.” Oliver frowned in thought as he sipped water from a paper cup. “But how did he find out that Amelie might know something?”
“No idea.” Pia shrugged. “Maybe Amelie mentioned something about the paintings to Terlinden? But no, I don’t think so.”
“Me neither. There’s still a piece missing. Something must have happened to scare Lauterbach.”
“Hasse?” Nicola Engel suggested from the background.
“No, he didn’t know about the paintings,” said Pia. “We didn’t find them until he was out of the picture.”
“Hmm. Then we’re actually missing a connection here.”
“Just a moment,” Oliver said. “What’s the deal with Nadia von Bredow? She was there when the boys raped Laura. And she’s in one of the pictures with Stefanie and Lauterbach in the background.”
Dr. Engel and Pia gave him a quizzical look.
“What if she was in the barnyard the whole time? She didn’t ride off with the boys to hide Laura’s body. And Nadia knew about the paintings, because Tobias told her about them.”
Dr. Engel and Pia instantly understood what Oliver was getting at. Had Nadia von Bredow blackmailed Lauterbach with what she knew and forced him to act?
“Let’s go back in.” Oliver tossed the cup into the trash can. “I think we’ve got him.”
* * *
The water was rising. Inch by inch. In the last light of day Amelie had seen that it was up to the third step. Her attempt to block the water from coming in with a thick woolen blanket worked until the water pressure pushed the blanket away. Now it was pitch dark, but she could hear the steady rush of water in the pipes. In vain she sought to calculate when the water would reach the top of the bookshelves. Thies lay close beside her, and she could feel his chest rising and falling. Now and then he coughed and wheezed. His skin was feverishly hot, and the cold dampness in this hole would finish him off. Amelie remembered that he’d been looking ill lately. How was he going to survive all this? Thies was so sensitive. A couple of times she had tried talking with him, but he hadn’t answered.
“Thies,” she whispered. It was hard for her because her teeth were chattering so hard that she could hardly open her mouth. “Thies, say something.”
Nothing. And then she finally lost heart. Her iron self-control, which had kept her from flipping out in the dark over all these days and nights, had vanished. She broke down in tears. There was no hope left. She was going to die in here, drowning miserably. Snow White had never been found either. Why should she have any better luck? Fear overpowered her. Suddenly she flinched. She felt something touch her back. Thies put his arm around her, slipped his leg over hers, and held her tight. The heat radiating from his body warmed her.
“Don’t cry, Amelie,” he whispered in her ear. “Don’t cry. I’m here.”
* * *