Bad Wolf (54 page)

“
The
Hartmut Matern?” Bodenstein raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, that’s the one.…” Pia looked at her boss. “His son Wolfgang is a friend of Hanna Herzmann. Isn’t that a funny coincidence?”

“No, I’m afraid none of this is a coincidence,” replied Bodenstein. “As I already told you on the phone, everything is connected. I hope that Rothemund will confirm this for us later on.”

Dr. Josef Finkbeiner, hit by two shots in the chest and neck, had already been taken away in the ambulance. Covers had been draped over the two dead men, still sitting on their chairs. Bodenstein had transferred leadership of the team to Cem Altunay, because he thought it was more important for him to talk to Rothemund. A medical examiner arrived, as well as the crisis intervention team that Altunay had requested. Two psychologists took care of Finkbeiner’s relatives, who had been sitting right behind the murder victims. Christian Kröger and his team had already begun securing evidence, cordoning off and photographing the crime scene and the two bodies. Some distance away, a medic was attending to the unconscious assassin, who had taken a round in the abdomen. Next to her head knelt a dark-haired man in a light-colored suit. He was crying and stroking the woman’s face.

“Please,” said the medic impatiently, “let us do our work.”

“I’m a doctor,” insisted the man. “And this is my sister.”

Bodenstein and Pia exchanged a surprised look.

“Come with us.” Bodenstein bent down over the man and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let the medics do their work.”

The man swayed as he got up. He followed Bodenstein and Pia, but only reluctantly, to one of the cocktail tables. He was pressing a blood-smeared ladies’ handkerchief to his chest.

“May I ask who you are?” Bodenstein asked after introducing himself.

“Florian Finkbeiner,” replied the man in a shaky voice.

“Are you related to…” Bodenstein began.

“Yes, Josef Finkbeiner is my father.
Our
father.” Suddenly, tears came to his eyes. “The woman … that’s my twin sister, Michaela. I … I haven’t seen her in more than thirty years, not since we were fourteen. I thought she was dead—that’s what my parents always told me. I … I was abroad for many years, but last year I visited Michaela’s grave. When she suddenly stood there today, it was … a shock.”

His voice failed, and he began sobbing. And Bodenstein understood. All at once, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place and the whole picture made sense.

The woman who had shot the two men to death and seriously wounded Josef Finkbeiner was the wife of Bernd Prinzler. She had been abused by her father as a little girl, suffered great torment, and was finally driven into prostitution. Prinzler had been telling the truth.

“Why did your sister shoot your father? And why the two other men?” Pia asked.

As Bodenstein had expected, Florian had absolutely no idea of the torture his twin sister had endured.

“That’s not true,” he whispered, appalled, when Bodenstein confronted him with what he knew. “My sister was always troubled, that’s true. She often ran away from home, drank alcohol, and took drugs. My parents also told me that she’d spent years in a psychiatric clinic. But I was never happy, either. It’s not easy for kids when their parents care more about strangers’ children than their own. But my father never would have … touched my sister. He loved her more than anything.”

“I’m afraid you’re fooling yourself,” said Pia. “When they loaded your father into the ambulance, your little daughter asked your wife whether the bad wolf was dead now, so he couldn’t do anything to her again.”

If possible, Florian Finkbeiner’s face turned a shade paler. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Do you remember when the doctor at the hospital said that your daughter may have been abused?” Pia asked. “Emma was afraid that you might have done something to the girl. But it wasn’t you. It was your father.”

Florian Finkbeiner stared at her and swallowed hard. His fingers were still gripping his sister’s handbag.

“Michaela used to say she was scared of the bad wolf. I never understood that it was a cry for help. I thought she was just making things up,” he whispered hoarsely. “It was also my idea for my wife and Louisa to live here until the baby was born. As long as I live, I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“Would you please give us the handbag?” Pia asked, and Finkbeiner handed it to her.

State Attorney Frey was heading in their direction, accompanied by a dark-haired woman. She stopped to talk to somebody, but Frey came over to their table. He wanted to put his arm around Finkbeiner’s shoulder, but Florian shrank away from him.

“All of you knew that Michaela was still alive,” he accused his adopted brother. “You always know everything, you and Ralf and Corinna.”

“No. We didn’t know,” the state attorney protested. “We even went to her funeral. I’m utterly shocked.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” Finkbeiner snorted, full of hate. “You always sucked up to my parents, kissing their ass, just to push us out and win their favor. We never had a chance against the likes of you. And now you’ve shot my sister! I hope you’ll roast in hell for that!”

He spit at Frey’s feet and left. Frey sighed. There were tears in his eyes.

“I don’t blame Florian,” he said softly. “It’s a shock for all of us, but it must be especially bad for him. It’s true that he always had to take us into consideration.”

Bodenstein’s cell rang. It was Kai Ostermann, who reported that they had actually found a man in the basement of Hanna Herzmann’s house.

“You wouldn’t believe it, boss,” said Ostermann. “The man is Helmut Grasser. He’s here at the station now. He didn’t want to go to the hospital.”

Bodenstein turned away to give Ostermann further instructions.

“Pia, we’re leaving,” he said then. “We’ve got Grasser.”

“Who?” Frey asked, and Bodenstein, who at first wanted to ignore him, remembered that he was the prosecutor in three of their cases.

“The man’s name is Helmut Grasser,” he replied. “On the night Hanna Herzmann was attacked, a witness saw him not far from the scene where she was found the next day. You must know him, don’t you? He lives here on the grounds.”

He caught Pia’s glance, which changed from bafflement to anger. She was about to reproach her boss for not keeping her informed, but there had been no time for that. And besides, she was keeping secrets from him, too.

“I’ve known Helmut for ages,” said Frey. “He’s the caretaker and handyman here. Is he a suspect?”

“Until proven otherwise, yes,” Bodenstein said with a nod. “First we’re going to talk to him, and then we’ll see.”

“I’d like to be there when you question him,” said Frey.

“Do you really want to do that? Maybe today you should—”

“No, it’s no problem,” Frey said, interrupting. “There’s nothing more for me to do here anyway. If you don’t mind, I’ll go change clothes and then go down to Hofheim.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Pia and Bodenstein watched him go, heading through the grounds with his cell pressed to his ear.

“Only moments ago he was still in shock, and now he’s as cold as a dog’s nose,” Pia said, slightly taken aback.

“Maybe he’s trying to escape into some sort of routine,” Bodenstein suggested.

“I didn’t recognize Mrs. Prinzler, either. She looked totally different. And then everything happened so fast.…”

“Come on, let’s go. First up is Rothemund. I’m really anxious to hear what he’s going to tell us.”

*   *   *

Kai Ostermann had put Helmut Grasser and Kilian Rothemund in interview rooms 2 and 3 on the ground floor of the Regional Criminal Unit. Bodenstein first went to see Bernd Prinzler, who was still waiting in room number 1. Silently and with a stony expression, he listened to Bodenstein and Pia’s account of the events in Falkenstein. Whatever was going on inside him, he had his emotions in an iron grip and showed neither anger nor concern.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t kept me in custody here,” he reproached Bodenstein. “Fucking shit!”

“Wrong,” said Bodenstein. “If you’d told us right away what this was all about, we would have let you go home long ago. Why did your wife do this? And where did she get the gun?”

“I have no idea,” Prinzler growled as he balled his hands into fists. “Are you finally going to let me go?”

“Yes, you can go.” Bodenstein nodded. “Your wife, by the way, was taken to the hospital in Bad Soden. If you like, we can have someone drive you there.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Prinzler stood up. “I’ve had enough cops chauffeuring me around in my life.”

He left the room, accompanied by a uniformed officer, who escorted him to the exit. Bodenstein and Pia followed, but at the door of the interview room, they found Dr. Nicola Engel.

“Why are you letting him go?” she asked. “What happened in Falkenstein?”

“He told us everything, and he has a permanent residence,” said Bodenstein. Before he could continue, Pia interrupted him. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Behnke had said about Nicola Engel’s involvement in the Erik Lessing case. She could also see that her boss mistrusted Engel. If there actually was a connection between the old case and the current ones, then it was better not to tell her every detail.

So Pia asked her boss, “First Rothemund, then Grasser?”

“Yes, Rothemund first,” Bodenstein agreed.

The commissioner’s cell phone rang and she stepped away to take the call. Pia was racking her brain, trying to think of how to get rid of Engel so that she wouldn’t be listening in on the interview with Rothemund via the loudspeaker behind the one-way mirror. There was no time for a detailed explanation, so she had to trust that Bodenstein wouldn’t object.

“I’d prefer to question Rothemund in your office,” she said.

“Good idea,” replied Bodenstein, to her relief. “The fluorescent lights give me a headache after half an hour anyway. Have him taken upstairs. I have to go to the little boys’ room first.”

“Er, Oliver?” Pia saw that Engel had finished her call. “I’d rather do the first interview with Rothemund without the commissioner being present. Can you fix it?”

She saw the question in his eyes, but he nodded.

“Chief State Attorney Frey is here,” Engel announced. “How shall we proceed?”

“Ms. Kirchhoff and I will first speak with Rothemund and Grasser alone,” Bodenstein replied. “Frey can join us later.”

Pia gave him a sharp look; then she went to interview room 3 to make sure they’d taken Kilian Rothemund up to the second floor.

“I’d also like to be there,” Pia heard Engel say. She couldn’t make out Bodenstein’s answer, but she hoped that he’d managed to dissuade her. When she came back, the commissioner was gone, but State Attorney Frey was coming down the hall. He was wearing a light gray suit, a white shirt, and a tie, and his hair was still damp and slicked straight back. Outwardly, he seemed as controlled and composed as always, but his normally piercing eyes were clouded and full of sadness.

“Hello, Dr. Frey,” she greeted him. “How are you?”

“Hello, Ms. Kirchhoff.” He extended his hand with the hint of a smile on his face. “Not so good. I don’t think I’ve really come to grips yet with what happened or how in the world it could have occurred.”

If Pia hadn’t seen with her own eyes the state he’d been in only two hours ago, she wouldn’t have believed it possible that he’d experienced something so horrible. His professionalism won her genuine admiration.

“I’d like to thank you once again,” he said. “It was amazing, what you did.”

“Don’t mention it.” Pia asked herself why she had previously considered him such a self-righteous bureaucrat. She really hadn’t liked him.

Bodenstein emerged from the men’s room. At the same moment, the door of the interview room down the hall opened, and an officer escorted Kilian Rothemund in handcuffs to the back stairs leading to the second floor. Frey watched him go. Pia noticed his expression change for a split second. His body stiffened and he raised his chin.

“That was not Helmut Grasser,” he said.

“No,” said Bodenstein. “That’s Kilian Rothemund. He turned himself in today. My colleague and I will speak with him first; then we’ll talk to Grasser.”

Frey eyed the man with whom he’d once been friends, and yet he’d sent him to prison for years. Then he nodded.

“I’d like to be present during the interview,” he said.

“No, Ms. Kirchhoff and I will speak with the gentlemen first,” Bodenstein replied firmly. “You may take a seat in the waiting room in the meantime.”

Chief State Attorney Frey wasn’t used to having his requests refused. His displeasure was unmistakable. He frowned and opened his mouth to object, but then he changed his mind and shrugged.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll go have a cup of coffee. See you later.”

*   *   *

Emma and Florian were sitting in the empty waiting room of the surgical outpatient department at the Bad Soden Hospital, holding hands and waiting. Louisa had gone to sleep on Florian’s lap. For over an hour, Michaela had been in the operating room. The bullet had penetrated obliquely below her breast and lodged in her pelvis. Josef had been taken by helicopter to the university clinic in Frankfurt, and Emma was glad of that. The mere thought of her innocent little daughter being under the same roof with that despicable bastard would have been intolerable. She gave Florian a sidelong glance. This whole situation must be much worse for him, she realized.

He’d always had a difficult relationship with his father, which had led him to withdraw and feel unloved. That was one of the main reasons why he’d chosen a profession that took him far away from home. It must be horrible to realize now that his own father is a child molester, a pedophile, who had abused their own daughter. Haltingly, Florian had told her about Michaela, about how much he had envied his sister because she was loved by their father, and because she had a close friendship with Nicky. As a child, Florian had both loved and hated Nicky, who had been taken into the Finkbeiner family when he was eight, after several foster families had given up on him and taken him back to the orphanage. Even as a kid, Nicky had been a talented manipulator, highly intelligent, ambitious, and with a narcissistic tendency. Florian had been glad to have a playmate of the same age, but Nicky had preferred Michaela and had completely monopolized her.