Time Heals No Wounds (9 page)

“Janssen here,” he said and blew through a red light. A light flashed from a small box near the intersection. Fritz swore. “What? No, that wasn’t because of you! I was just caught running a red light. But what’s up? Talk to me!”

A few seconds later, Fritz cursed again and abruptly stopped the car. Furious, he slammed the phone on the dashboard. “Those amateurs! Our surveillance team did a great job. Just as they were about to arrest the suspect, they found the real estate office locked and a sign hanging on the door saying the office was closed. Once they finally managed to get the door open, there wasn’t a single person in the office. If we’re actually investigating a murder case, then our prime suspect has just managed to escape through a back door.”

On the way back to the farm, Fritz railed against the decline of the police force and his colleagues’ incompetence. Not even the gentle sounds of Vivaldi could appease him. A relieved Tom jumped out of the car when they reached the farm. Even a piece of Mrs. Olsen’s cheesecake was unable to brighten Fritz’s mood.

“Now what?” asked Hannes while Fritz wiped the last crumbs from his mouth and drove the Jeep back toward the city.

“Now we pay a visit to Mr. Schneider’s residence. This guy’s obviously hiding something.”

“What about Tom and the Olsens? Aren’t they under suspicion too? All three live near the crime scene. And then there’s Merlin.”

Fritz rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Tom was fishing on the beach, Mr. Olsen was in his field, and his wife was at home. We still don’t know what Merlin was up to on Saturday. Do any of these people seem suspicious to you? But you’re right. Just because the focus is on Schneider right now doesn’t mean we should lose sight of other possibilities. Even a crazy old artist, a somewhat simple-minded farmhand, and an unpretentious farmer and his wife may have their dark sides too. So long as we’re unsure of the victim’s identity, it’s unfortunately quite difficult to make any connections. If we still don’t know who she is by tomorrow, we’ll probably have to show our country bumpkins a photo of the corpse. There’s no way around it. But at least Mr. Olsen has already seen it and stated that he doesn’t know the victim.”

Fritz stopped the Jeep in front of a modern estate in an upscale residential area on the outskirts of the city. High walls and massive steel gates blocked the view of the mansion. It was already noon and well over ninety degrees.

“Six Lake Street. This is Schneider’s home,” Fritz said, pointing to the gate.

“Where’s the lake?” asked Hannes. “I’m a little disappointed.”

“It’s probably behind the property, with private bathing platforms for members of high society.”

Fritz opened the glove compartment and pulled out a badge, business cards, and his gun. He threw on a linen jacket despite the heat and stuffed his gun into the inside pocket.

“Do you think it’ll get that serious?” asked Hannes.

“No idea. But in the event that Schneider has something to do with the woman’s death and feels cornered, I’d rather play it safe. I don’t think he’s actually home. But perhaps his wife will let us in. Then at least we’ll know she’s still alive.”

Hannes rang the bell, and a woman’s voice came over the intercom.

Fritz got straight to the point. “Hello. This is the police. Are you Mrs. Schneider?”

“I am. Did something happen?”

“We’d like to talk to you. Would you please open the gate?”

“Did something happen to my husband?”

Fritz shot Hannes a meaningful glance. “Could you please let us in? We’d prefer not to communicate through the intercom.”

“Of course, come in!”

A moment later, the gate swung open. A white house with odd angles stood on the other side of a well-kept lawn with meticulously trimmed hedges. Porthole-shaped windows alternated with protruding walls. The house was surmounted by a bold roof that looked like a bent triangle that extended to the ground. Each room seemed to have a private balcony or winter garden, and the first floor consisted almost entirely of glass.

“Wow,” Hannes said. He stared in wonder at the unique mansion.

Even Fritz seemed enamored. He scratched his head and looked around. “I would never have thought you could make so much money off commission,” he said. “And look at the size of the plot. All this must be worth a fortune. Maybe he inherited something.”

Hannes followed Fritz along a gravel road, which must have been meticulously raked shortly before. When they had made it halfway, a massive brown wooden door opened, and a tall, slender middle-aged woman stepped out. Her high-heeled sandals and dress were white, and her light-blonde, artistically ambitious hair and pale skin completed the enchanting scene. She floated atop a sweeping staircase in front of them.

Mrs. Schneider turned to a shirtless young man who was weeding at the edge of the stairs. “Lars, please take a look at the rhododendrons on the lakeside terrace. I believe they’re in desperate need of water.”

The young man wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. “Of course, Mrs. Schneider, I’ll take care of it right away.” He nodded to Fritz and Hannes and disappeared around the corner.

Fritz took out his badge and droned the usual greeting. “You asked about your husband,” he continued. “Do you have a reason to believe we’re here because of him?”

“I don’t know why you’ve come. Please, explain,” Mrs. Schneider said, taking a puff from a thin cigarette. Fritz tried to ignore the perfumed smoke.

Hannes broke in. “We’re looking for him. He left a note at his office stating it was closed. He’s not at home?”

“No, he’s not. Maybe he went to the doctor. He complained about a headache earlier. I’ve tried to call him because we’re hosting a small gathering this evening, and he should be here already.”

“That’s odd. This morning, we met him at his office, and he seemed completely fine. Was your husband forced to close for the day because he suddenly felt sick?” Fritz asked.

“He’s in good shape. Maybe he caught a summer cold. Or maybe he has an appointment. You can ask his secretary if she knows why he suddenly disappeared.”

“The office was, as I said, closed. He had told us earlier that his assistant was ill and had not showed up to work.”

“Why are you searching for my husband?”

“Mrs. Schneider, were you with your husband on his boat on Saturday?” Fritz asked.

She exhaled. “That ship is his favorite toy. I have not been on it in ages. He races it so fast that I feel sick every time. But sometimes he takes important customers out with him.”

“That’s strange . . .” Hannes said, but Fritz cut him off.

“On Saturday, your husband had apparently not only raced his boat. He laid anchor by a section of beach where, a day later, a woman’s body was found.”

“He told me nothing of the sort. However, I returned from New York yesterday late in the evening. My sister lives there, and I stayed with her for a week.”

“Do you remember your flight information?”

Mrs. Schneider flicked her hair over her shoulder. “You do not think I . . . I arrived on a L
ufthansa flight at nine thirty. You can verify that if you would like.”

“You’re not under suspicion,” Fritz said. “But we do need to investigate all possible leads.”

“You said your husband sometimes takes special customers out on the boat. Do you know if he had anyone on board on Saturday?” asked Hannes.

Mrs. Schneider turned to him, paused at the sight of his unique eyes, then looked him up and down. “I have no idea. He runs his business on his own. You’ll have to ask him.”

“Unfortunately, we’re running out of time. Who else would know his schedule?”

“His secretary, of course. Leonie Kustermann. She lives at 20 Post Street. Was that everything? I still have to take care of the preparations for the party.”

“That’s all, thank you,” Fritz said. “Could you please inform your husband when you speak to him that he should contact us? Here’s my card.”

Mrs. Schneider nodded. “I’ll tell him. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

She held out her hand, and Hannes wondered if she expected them to kiss it. However, he followed Fritz’s lead and merely clasped it. As Mrs. Schneider turned back inside the house, Fritz and Hannes followed the gravel path back to the gate.

Hannes shook his head. “She didn’t come across as too worried.”

“Or particularly sympathetic,” said Fritz. “That white princess radiates cold arrogance. There doesn’t seem to be a close relationship between the two. Who knows what services the young gardener provides here?”

“You don’t mean that he . . .”

Fritz waved his hand. “I wouldn’t be surprised. She eyed you up and down. At least now you’ve got another job option. Gardener for a rich, neglected wife.” He chuckled. “Anyway, at least we know the body isn’t Mrs. Schneider’s.”

“Why didn’t you tell her a woman was on board?”

Fritz shrugged. “Just a feeling. If she’s having an affair with her gardener, maybe her husband eventually returned the favor and fooled around with a customer. Perhaps the woman pressured him on Saturday, making him commit an irrational act. We should have initially maintained the impression that we only wanted to question him as a witness, but at the same time monitor the property and continue searching for Mr. Schneider. I’m going to visit his secretary. Perhaps she can tell us if he took a customer out with him on Saturday. I’ll leave you at the office. Find out everything you can about this man! Sift through our archives, use the Internet to track him down, try to find his friends.”

After dropping Hannes off, Fritz continued to Post Street. Nothing happened when he rang the doorbell. It was a nondescript apartment building, same as any other. Although its best days were long gone, it gave the impression of being clean. The faint sound of a radio came from an open window on the first floor, and a baby screamed from somewhere in the house. Fritz rang again, holding the buzzer down for a while. A few seconds later, a gray-haired woman appeared in the open window.

“Excuse me!” shouted Fritz. “Are you Ms. Kustermann?”

“No, Ms. Kustermann lives above me and left about an hour ago.”

“Oh, I thought she was sick.”

“Well, she didn’t look very good. Maybe she went to the doctor.”

Fritz thanked the old woman and strolled back to his car. Once inside, he scanned Post Road in the vain hope of discovering a bakery or café somewhere. As a consolation, he popped in a CD of piano concertos and reclined in the driver’s seat to reflect on his next steps. A searing pain in his back catapulted him into a vertical position. His cell phone rang.

“Fritz, it’s Hannes! We now know who the victim is. A missing-person report just came in, and the description’s an exact match!”

Fritz raced down the hall and opened the door to Hannes’s office.

“That was fast! Did you run a couple of red lights again?” Hannes joked.

“I did, but this time I remembered to put my lights and siren on. So I’ll only have to explain two tickets from today.”

Fritz stepped closer and looked over Hannes’s shoulder at the computer screen. “Is that her?” He pointed to a photo of a woman with long gray hair.

“That’s her. Helene Ternheim was reported missing by her brother, Christian Ternheim. The two head the drugmaker Lagussa, and he has not heard from her or seen her since Friday. She’s fifty-seven and lives in a penthouse near the harbor bridge. She was supposed to attend a board meeting yesterday afternoon, and when she didn’t show, her brother called the police.”

“There’s no possibility of a mistake, is there?”

“No. Maria’s already been in touch with Ms. Ternheim’s dentist and compared the dental records. There’s no doubt this is Helene Ternheim.”

“Has her brother been notified?”

“No, that’s been left to us.”

Fritz exhaled. “This case is really starting to take off. We’d better not put off visiting Mr. Ternheim, even if there’s nothing worse than informing someone about a loved one’s death. But still, he has a right to know as soon as possible, and he might be able to shed further light on the case.”

“When did we want to stop by the Coast Guard? They promised the initial data for today.”

“Why don’t you head there on your own. It makes sense if we split up. The manhunt for Schneider is already underway; Matthias and Steffi are coordinating it. You can take my car, and I’ll take the bus. Lagussa’s headquarters are only a few stops away. I’ll meet you back here, and we can share what we’ve learned.”

Fritz threw the car keys to Hannes and was already halfway out the door when Hannes hesitated. “Um . . . wouldn’t it be better if we did everything together? I was taught that detectives should only split up in exceptional circumstances.”

Fritz eyed his young colleague before taking a deep breath. “Well, let me teach you a few more things, smart alec. First: welcome to reality! Second: a murder investigation always counts as an exceptional situation to me. Third: I told you when we first started working together that I won’t change the way I work because of you. Still, you shouldn’t go telling everyone how we carry out our investigations. In the end, the only thing that counts is the result; I can tell you that from years of experience. So why don’t you go and get the passenger lists of all the ships that were in the area. I don’t think we’ll get anywhere looking at them, but if we can rule the ships out now, it will help.”