Bad Wolf: A Novel (Pia Kirchhoff and Oliver von Bodenstein) Page 8

  Despite all initial misgivings on the part of her colleagues, in the past two years Dr. Nicola Engel had developed into a good department head with a strict but fair leadership style. She always stood up for her team and never let internal problems leak out to the public. Within the Hofheim Kripo unit, her authority was undisputed; everyone treated her with respect, because, unlike her predecessor, she had no time for politics, and consequently paid more attention to actual police work.

  “Engel is really good,” said Pia, handing Bodenstein the keys to one of the squad cars. “Could you drive? I have to call Alina Hindemith.”

  Bodenstein nodded.

  As part of the discussion, he and Ostermann and Pia had spoken to the younger officers who had been called to the site of the riverside booze party yesterday. From the girl who’d discovered the body, Pia had obtained the names of the other kids who’d been drinking and had ordered all four of them to come to the station, along with their parents. Two girls, two boys, meek and very upset, but only marginally helpful. None of them had noticed the dead girl in the reeds; they all claimed not to remember what had actually happened. All four were lying.

  “I’m telling you that they all took off when they saw that the girl was dead,” Pia said, searching in her bag for Alina’s phone number. “And I’m fairly sure that they left their friend behind, just like Alina did.”

  “By doing that, in the worst-case scenario they may have made themselves accessories if their friend dies.” Bodenstein stopped at the off-ramp and put on his left-turn blinker. Since he had no air conditioning, they were driving with the windows down until the stuffy heat became tolerable. “I’m sure their parents drummed into them what they should say.”

  “I think so, too,” Pia agreed. They hadn’t received any good news from the hospital in Höchst. Sixteen-year-old Alexander still couldn’t speak and was on a respirator. The doctors thought he might have suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen.

  Even considering the amount of alcohol involved, it was no minor offense to leave an unconscious individual to his fate—especially if he was a friend. They probably hadn’t all been as dead drunk as they claimed, because then they wouldn’t have been able to climb over the tall gate so easily.

  Since early morning, the phones in Dispatch had been ringing off the hook. As always, when the public was asked for assistance, a large number of nutcases also called in, claiming they’d seen the dead girl in the most unlikely places. It was unproductive work following up on all the claims, but there could always be a real tip among them—and then it would be worth their while. Yesterday evening, the reporters had mentioned the cold case of another girl found dead in the Main River back in 2001, and now the press was harping on that. In order to placate the public and to quell the burgeoning criticism of the work the police were doing, a swift resolution of the investigation was needed, no matter what the cost. That was Pia’s argument for informing the public early on—and Nicola Engel had approved it, just as State Attorney Frey had done last night.

  Bodenstein turned off the A66, heading for Frankfurt, while Pia tried in vain to reach Alina. Her father pretended she wasn’t home.

  “All this lying pisses me off,” Pia grumbled. “If it were their kid lying unconscious in the ICU, they sure would light a fire under our asses.”

  “Even worse, I find it highly questionable when parents set an example for their children by showing them how simple it is to shake off all responsibility for their actions,” Bodenstein said. “This instant reflex to palm off all blame onto someone else is an indication of the complete collapse of morals in our society.”

  A call came in from Ostermann.

  “Tell me, Pia, where did you put the file on Veronika Meissner? I have the autopsy report on my desk and don’t want to leave it floating around here.”

  At first glance, Kai Ostermann might look like a somewhat chaotic nerd, with his nickel-framed glasses, ponytail, and sloppy clothes, but that was misleading. He was undoubtedly the most disciplined and orderly person Pia had ever met.

  “I was looking for that report yesterday,” she replied. “The case file must be underneath my desk.”

  At that moment, she remembered what she’d wanted to tell Bodenstein so urgently.

  “By the way, you know who showed up at my office yesterday?” she said to Bodenstein after she’d finished talking to Ostermann. “The best way is via Frankfurter Kreuz and past the stadium. If we go through town, we won’t get there in time.”

  “No idea.” Bodenstein put on his blinker. “Who?”

  “Frank Behnke. In a suit and tie. And even more offensive than before.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Now he’s with the State Criminal Division. In Internal Affairs!” said Pia. “Starting on Monday, he’s going to do an investigation of our department. Apparently, there have been complaints and accusations of irregularities.”

  “Do tell.” Bodenstein shook his head.

  “Not following up on criminal offenses, unauthorized access to data. Oliver, he’s got you in his sights. He’s out to get back at you for humiliating him during the Snow White case.”

  “And what did I do to him then?” Bodenstein asked. “He was behaving despicably. And he has only his own actions to blame for the investigation and his suspension, not me.”

  “He doesn’t seem to see it that way. You know what he’s like, that vindictive jerk.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Bodenstein shrugged. “My conscience is clear.”

  Pia sucked on her lower lip for a moment. Then she said, “I’m still afraid of what he might do. Do you remember the first case we worked together?”

  “Of course. What are you getting at?”

  “The case with Friedhelm Döring. The castration. A charge of aggravated bodily harm was brought against the veterinarian, the lawyer, and the pharmacist.”

  “Yeah, but not as a favor,” Bodenstein countered in consternation. “We had sent Spusi to the operating room of the veterinary clinic, but there were no viable leads, not a single piece of evidence. I can’t torture suspects to make them talk!”

  Pia could see that her boss was getting more and more annoyed the longer he thought about this charge.

  “I just wanted to alert you to this in advance, so you’ll be prepared,” she said. “I’m actually rather sure that’s exactly what Behnke is going to start with.”

  “Thanks,” said Bodenstein with a grim smile. “I’m afraid you’re right. But he’d better be careful not to lean too far out the window. Because, by God, he’s no innocent lamb.”

  “How do you mean?” Now Pia was curious. She recalled the tension that had clearly existed from the first day between Behnke and Dr. Engel. Back then, rumors were flying that their mutual dislike had something to do with an old case in which they’d been involved during their time with the Frankfurt Homicide Commission. During an arrest, a contact man for the Frankfurt police had been shot to death.

  “An old case,” replied Bodenstein evasively. “Long ago, but still under the statute of limitations. Behnke is going to need to pull his socks up if he tries to piss on me.”

  * * *

  “Crap!” Hanna muttered when the green light changed to red right in front of her. Somebody had just snatched the last available spot in the Junghofstrasse parking garage. She glanced in the rearview mirror, shifted into reverse, and turned the Mini that Meike had lent her toward the exit. Luckily, nobody was behind her and the exit was wide enough for this maneuver. It was already ten minutes before noon. She had a lunch appointment with Wolfgang in KUBU. In a plastic sleeve lying next to her on the passenger seat was the battle plan for damage control that she had worked out this morning.

  She turned right onto Junghofstrasse and then onto Neue Mainzer at the corner. Just before the Hilton, she veered right, toward the stock exchange, and actually spied a parking place on the left side of the street between a delivery van and a black limousine. She put on the blinker, stepped on the gas,
and moved over to the left. She assiduously ignored the wild honking and gesticulations of the driver behind her, who had to stop short to avoid plowing into the Mini. Courtesy and consideration were uncalled for in the inner-city war for free parking spots. The slot would have been too small for her own car, but the Mini slipped into it with no problem.

  Hanna got out, sticking the briefcase under her arm. That morning, she’d had the Porsche Panamera picked up and taken to the shop. The owner of the shop had called her an hour later and asked whether she didn’t want to file a police report against an unknown person for property damage.

  “I’ll think it over,” she replied, agreeing that the vandalized hood and the four slashed tires should be set aside as evidence. In her mind, Hanna saw again the large letters on her car’s hood spelling out CUNT. Who had done it? Norman? Vinzenz? Who else knew where she lived? All morning, she had banned this worrying thought from her head, but now it pushed to the foreground again.

  Hanna decided to take a shortcut but regretted it seconds later, because restaurant row was packed to the gills. All the seats underneath the big awnings were taken in front of all the cafés and restaurants. People who worked in the surrounding buildings and stores were using their lunch hour to take a sunbath; there were teenagers with hardly any clothes on, mothers with strollers, and senior citizens who ambled along the shopping mile at a pace much slower than the usual Frankfurt rush. The heat was slowing down the whole city.

  Hanna adapted her gait to match. She had left her high heels and suit at home today, and instead she was wearing white jeans, a T-shirt, and comfortable sneakers. She crossed Neue Mainzer with a throng of Japanese tourists and entered the terrace of KUBU from Opernplatz. Ninety percent of the midday crowd consisted of businessmen from the nearby bank towers; a smaller number of women in professional attire and a few tourists made up the minority. Wolfgang was sitting at a table at the edge of the terrace in the shade of a plane tree and studying the menu.

  When she reached the table, he looked up and smiled, delighted to see her.

  “Hello, Hanna.” He got up, kissed her on both cheeks, and courteously pulled out a chair for her. “I’ve taken the liberty of ordering a bottle of mineral water. And some bread.”

  “Thank you. A very good idea. I’m famished.” She reached for the menu and scanned the daily specials. “I’ll take today’s special, wild leek foam soup and sole.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll have the same.” Wolfgang closed his menu, and seconds later the server appeared and took their order. Two specials and a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

  Wolfgang rested his elbows on the table, clasped his hands, and gave her a searching look. “I’m really curious to hear what you’ve come up with.”

  Hanna poured some olive oil into the little dish, strewed coarse salt and pepper over it, and then dunked a piece of French bread into the oil. In all the excitement this morning, she’d had no time for breakfast, and her stomach was growling. Low blood sugar was threatening to put her in a foul mood.

  “We’re going on the offensive,” she explained as she chewed, putting her handbag in her lap and taking out the plastic sleeve. “We’ve gotten in contact with the people who complained about us. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be meeting with the man in Bremen, and with the woman in Dortmund in the afternoon. They were both extremely responsive.”

  “Well, that sounds very good.” Wolfgang nodded. “Our board and the shareholders’ reps are pretty nervous. We can’t afford any bad publicity right now.”

  “I know.” Hanna swept a strand of hair from her brow and took a sip of water. Here in the shade, the temperature was still tolerable. Wolfgang removed his tie, rolled it up, and put it in an inside pocket of his jacket, which he’d hung over the back of the chair. Hanna explained her strategy to him in brief sentences as he listened attentively.

  By the time the soup was served, they’d agreed to try to limit the damage.

  “And how are things with you otherwise?” Wolfgang asked. “You look a little tired.”

  “It’s all taking a toll on me, I have to admit. This thing with Norman and the whole mess. And last night, Meike was perfectly rotten toward me, as usual. I don’t think we’re ever going to get along.”

  With Wolfgang, she could be frank and didn’t have to pretend. They’d known each other now for half an eternity. He had witnessed her meteoric rise from news anchor at Hessen Radio to idolized TV star, and if she had to make an appearance somewhere and didn’t have a man at her side, he was always available as an escort. She had no secrets from Wolfgang. He was the first person she told when she got pregnant—even before Meike’s father. Wolfgang had been her witness at her wedding and was Meike’s godfather; he listened to her patiently when she had trouble with her love life and was happy for her when things were going well. He was without a doubt her best friend.

  “And if that wasn’t enough, last night somebody slashed all four of my tires and dented the hood of my car.” She said this in a deliberately light tone of voice, as if it didn’t particularly bother her. Once she granted the demons of fear a place in her life, they would have the upper hand.

  “What did you say?” Wolfgang was truly shocked. “Who would do such a thing? Did you call the police?”

  “No. Not yet.” Hanna wiped her plate with a piece of bread and shook her head. “It was probably just some jealous idiot who couldn’t stand the sight of a Porsche Panamera.”

  “You shouldn’t take it so lightly, Hanna. It worries me that you live alone in that big house by the woods. What about the surveillance cameras?”

  “I need to have them replaced,” she said. “At the moment, they’re only for show.”

  The waitress came and poured white wine and took away the soup plates. Wolfgang waited until she left, then put his hand on Hanna’s. “If there’s anything I can do, if I can help in any way … you know you only have to say the word.”

  “Thank you,” Hanna said with a smile. “I know.”

  All of a sudden, it occurred to her how happy she would be with Wolfgang if he weren’t married or seriously involved. It wasn’t because of his looks. He was no Adonis, of course, but he was attractive enough. The years had treated him kindly, unlike most men she knew, and lent his soft, youthful features a rugged masculinity that suited him. His hair was graying at the temples, and the laugh lines at his eyes were deeper now, but that suited him, too.

  A few years ago, he’d had a girlfriend, a boring, pale attorney, whom he seemed to be pretty serious about, but she’d found no favor in the eyes of Wolfgang’s father. Eventually, the relationship fell apart. Wolfgang never talked about it, but he hadn’t had a steady girlfriend since.

  The sole was served. At KUBU, the meals didn’t take long; people knew that the patrons who came for a business lunch didn’t have a lot of time.

  Hanna picked up her napkin.

  “I’m not going to let myself be buffaloed,” she said forcefully. “Now we just have to salvage the situation as far as my show is concerned. Do you think my strategy will work?”

  “I think so,” replied Wolfgang. “You can be very convincing, even when you aren’t convinced about something yourself.”

  “Precisely!” Hanna grabbed her wineglass and held it up for a toast. “Here’s to resolving yet another minor mess.”

  He clinked glasses with her. The apprehension in his eyes had given way to quiet disappointment. But Hanna didn’t notice.

  * * *

  Bodenstein couldn’t find a parking place anywhere near the Institute for Forensic Medicine on Kennedyallee. He parked on Eschenbachstrasse, so they had to walk a couple of hundred yards. Pia’s decision to go public with the case had provoked a good deal of media interest. There was a crowd of reporters on the sidewalk, and they pounced on anyone going in or out of the institute. One reporter recognized Kirchhoff and Bodenstein, and they were instantly surrounded. From the shouted questions, Pia gathered that they must have heard a rumor from somewhere that last night the
re had been another young victim of the phenomenon of “coma drinking,” and now the pack of reporters was greedy for details. For a brief moment, she wavered. Did the press guys have more current information from the hospital than she did? Had Alexander died?

  “Why didn’t you tell us that two people died?” one young man shouted, louder than the others, sticking his microphone in Pia’s face like a weapon. “What are the police trying to pull?”

  This wasn’t the first time in her life that she was astonished by the aggressive and excitable behavior of some reporters. Did they think they’d find out more if they shouted louder?

  “There is no second fatality,” replied Bodenstein for Pia, shoving the mike aside. “Now let us through.”

  It took a couple of minutes for them to fight their way to the entrance of the institute. Inside the building, it was cool and almost reverentially quiet; somewhere a computer keyboard was clacking. The doors to the lecture hall at the front of the wood-paneled lobby were standing open. Pia heard a voice and glanced into the spacious room. The rows of seats were empty, but State Attorney Dr. Markus Maria Frey was walking back and forth as he talked on the phone. He was once again impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, with his hair parted meticulously. When he saw Pia, he ended his call and put away his cell phone. His annoyed expression faded.

  “I must apologize for the behavior of my young colleague this morning,” he said, extending his hand first to Pia, then to Bodenstein. “Mr. Tanouti is a bit overzealous.”

  “No problem,” replied Pia. She was somewhat surprised to see Dr. Frey here, because it was unusual for him to attend an autopsy at the institute.

  “I assume that Commissioner Engel probably gave him a taste of his own medicine.” A smile passed over the SA’s face, but he turned serious at once. “Is there anything to this rumor of a second fatality?”

  “Fortunately, no,” said Bodenstein. “My colleague called the hospital only half an hour ago. The boy who was found near the body is still in critical condition, but he’s alive.”