The Ice Queen: A Novel (48 page)

“No,” said Améry. “He didn’t say a word.”

“What about Robert Watkowiak?” Bodenstein asked.

“I took him to Mühlenhof on Siegbert Kaltensee’s instructions. On Wednesday, May second. My men had looked for him everywhere, and then he happened to walk across the street right in front of me in Fischbach.”

Bodenstein recalled the message that Watkowiak had left on Kurt Frenzel’s answering machine: “My stepmother’s gorillas have been laying in wait for me…”

“Have you ever received any assignments from Jutta Kaltensee?” Nicola Engel now inquired. Améry hesitated, then nodded.

“What were they?”

The self-confident and slippery security leader actually seemed embarrassed. He hemmed and hawed.

“We’re waiting.” Nicola Engel impatiently rapped her knuckle on the table.

“I was supposed to take photos,” Améry finally admitted, looking at Bodenstein. “Of you and Ms. Kaltensee.”

Bodenstein felt the blood rush to his face, and at the same time he was filled with relief. He caught a glance from Nicola Engel, but she concealed whatever thoughts she might have behind a blank expression.

“What was the exact nature of the assignment?”

“She told me to stay available and to come to the Rote Mühle later and take some pictures,” Améry replied uncomfortably. “At ten-thirty, I got a text that I needed to be on hand in twenty minutes.”

He cast Bodenstein a brief glance and smiled ruefully. “Sorry. It was nothing personal.”

“Did you take pictures?” Engel asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

“In my cell and on my computer at the office.”

“We’ll have to confiscate those.”

“Be my guest.” Améry shrugged again.

“What instructions did Jutta Kaltensee give you?”

“She paid me extra for special tasks.” Henri Améry was a mercenary and knew no loyalty, especially since the Kaltensee family wouldn’t be paying him anymore in the future. “Occasionally, I was her bodyguard, and now and then her lover.”

Nicola Engel nodded with satisfaction. Exactly what she’d wanted to hear.

*   *   *

“How did you actually get Vera across the border?” Pia inquired.

“In the trunk.” Elard Kaltensee smiled grimly. “The Maybach has diplomatic plates. I had counted on the border guards simply waving us through, and they did.”

Pia thought about the statement by Bodenstein’s mother-in-law that Elard was no man of action. What had led him to seize the initiative at last?

“I might have doped myself up with lorazepam so I wouldn’t have to face reality,” explained Kaltensee. “If she hadn’t done what she did to Marcus. When I found out from you that Vera had never paid him for his work, and then when I saw him lying there, so … beat-up and suffering, something happened to me. I was suddenly so furious at her—the way she treats people, with such contempt and indifference. And I knew that I had to stop her. I had to prevent her by any means necessary from hushing it all up again.”

He stopped, shaking his head.

“I had learned that she secretly planned to go to Italy and from there to South America, so I couldn’t wait any longer. There was a police car at the gate, so I left the house another way. All day long, there was no opportunity, but then Jutta drove off with Moormann, and a little later Siegbert left, too; then I was able to overpower my mo—I mean … that
woman.
The rest was child’s play.”

“Why did you leave your Mercedes at the airport?”

“To leave a phony trail,” he explained. “That way, I could concentrate less on the police and more on my brother’s security men, who were hot on the trail of Marcus and me. Unfortunately,
she
had to wait in the trunk of the Maybach until I came back.”

“When you visited Nowak at the hospital, you claimed to be his father.” Pia looked at him. He seemed more relaxed now, finally at peace with himself and his past. His personal nightmare was over after he freed himself from the burden of uncertainty.

“No,” Auguste Nowak interjected. “I said that he was my son. And that wasn’t a lie.”

“Right.” Pia nodded and looked at Elard Kaltensee. “The whole time, I thought you were the murderer. You and Marcus Nowak.”

“I can’t blame you,” replied Elard. “We were behaving pretty suspiciously without meaning to. I wasn’t really aware of the murders; I was too wrapped up in myself. Marcus and I, we were both utterly confused. For a long time we didn’t want to admit what was going on. It was … it was somehow unthinkable. I mean, neither he nor I had ever had anything to do with a … man before.”

He gave a deep sigh.

“The nights for which we had no alibis, Marcus and I spent together at my Frankfurt apartment.”

“He’s your nephew. You’re blood relations,” Pia noted.

“Well, yes,” said Elard Kaltensee, a smile flashing across his face, “but it’s not as if we can have children together.”

Pia also had to smile at that.

“It’s a shame that you didn’t tell me all this earlier,” she said. “You would have saved us a lot of work. What are you going to do now when you get home?”

“Well,” said Baron von Zeydlitz-Lauenburg, taking a deep breath, “the time for playing hide-and-seek is over. Marcus and I have decided to tell our families the truth about our relationship. We don’t want to stay in the closet. For me, it’s not so bad—my reputation is dubious anyway—but for Marcus, it will be a difficult step to take.”

Pia took him at his word. Marcus Nowak’s family and friends would never display even a spark of understanding for this sort of relationship. His father and the whole family would probably commit collective hara-kiri if it became known in Fischbach that their son, husband, and brother had left his wife for a man thirty years older.

“I’d like to come back here sometime with Marcus.” Elard Kaltensee let his gaze sweep over the lake glinting in the sun. “Maybe we could restore the castle once the ownership claims are settled. Marcus would be a better judge of that than I am. But it would be a wonderful hotel, right on the lakeshore.”

Pia smiled and glanced at her watch. It was high time to call Bodenstein.

“I suggest we take Mrs. Kaltensee to the limousine,” she said. “And then we’ll all drive back together.…”

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” a voice suddenly said from behind her. Pia spun around in alarm and looked straight into the barrel of a gun. Three figures clad in black and wearing balaclavas over their heads, pistols drawn, had come up the stairs.

“Well, finally, Moormann,” she heard Vera Kaltensee say. “It’s about time.”

*   *   *

“Where’s Moormann?” Bodenstein asked the head of K-Secure.

“If he’s on his way somewhere in the car, I can find out.” Henri Améry wasn’t keen on having a police record, so he was helpfulness personified. “All vehicles of the Kaltensee family and K-Secure are equipped with a chip, which allows them to be located by means of computer software.”

“How does it work?”

“If you’ll let me use a computer, I’ll show you.”

Bodenstein immediately escorted the man from the interview room to Ostermann’s office on the second floor.

“Go ahead.” He pointed to the computer on the desk. Bodenstein, Ostermann, Behnke, and Nicola Engel watched with interest as Améry entered the name of a Web site called Minor Planet. He waited until the page displayed completely, then logged in with user name and password. A map of Europe appeared. The vehicles were listed on it, along with their license numbers.

“We introduced this monitoring system so that I can see at a glance at any time where my employees are,” Améry explained. “And in case any vehicle should be stolen.”

“Which car might Moormann be driving?” Bodenstein asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll try one after the other.”

Nicola Engel signaled Bodenstein to follow her out to the hall.

“I’m preparing an arrest warrant for Siegbert Kaltensee,” she said in a low voice. “There will be problems with Jutta Kaltensee, because as a representative in the state parliament, she has diplomatic immunity, but I’d like to bring her in for a talk at any rate.”

“Okay.” Bodenstein nodded. “I’ll drive with Améry over to the Kunsthaus. Maybe we’ll find Ritter there.”

“I think Siegbert Kaltensee knows what happened,” Nicola Engel said. “He has a guilty conscience because of his daughter.”

“I think so, too.”

“I’ve got it,” Améry reported from the office. “He must have taken the M-Class Mercedes from Mühlenhof, because it’s in a place where it shouldn’t be. In Poland, in a place called … Doba. The vehicle has been stationary for forty-three minutes.”

Bodenstein felt himself go ice-cold. Moormann, the presumed murderer of Robert Watkowiak and Monika Krämer, was in Poland! On the phone, Pia had told him a couple of hours ago that they had almost reached their destination, and that Dr. Kirchhoff was going to search the cellar thoroughly. So that meant they probably hadn’t left the castle. What was Moorman doing in Poland? All of a sudden, he realized where Elard Kaltensee was. He turned to the head of K-Secure.

“Check on the Maybach,” he said in a hoarse voice. “Where is it right now?”

Améry clicked on the license number of the limousine.

“It’s there, too,” he said a moment later. “No, hold on. The Maybach started moving one minute ago.”

Bodenstein looked at Nicola Engel. She understood at once.

“Ostermann, you keep track of both vehicles,” said Engel decisively. “I’ll inform our colleagues in Poland. And then I’m going to Wiesbaden.”

*   *   *

One of the black-clad men who had appeared so unexpectedly had driven off with Vera Kaltensee. Her last order was clear: Tie the hands of Elard Kaltensee, Auguste Nowak, and Pia Kirchhoff and shoot them in the cellar. Pia desperately thought of how she could get out of this hopeless situation and warn Miriam and Henning. There was no mercy to be expected from these men; they would simply carry out their assignment and then drive back to Germany as if nothing had happened. Pia knew that she bore the responsibility for Henning and Miriam. She was the one who’d gotten both of them into this terrible situation. All at once, wild rage overcame her. She had no desire to be led like a lamb to the slaughter. It couldn’t be true that she would die without ever seeing Christoph again. Christoph! She had promised to pick him up at the airport when he came back from South Africa tonight. Pia stopped in front of the opening that led down to the cellar.

“What do you intend to do with us?” she asked to gain time.

“You heard it,” said the man. His voice sounded muffled through his ski mask.

“But why—” Pia began. The man gave her a hard shove in the back. She lost her balance and tumbled down the side of the pile of rubble. Because her hands were tied, she couldn’t break her fall. Something hard rammed painfully into her diaphragm, and, wheezing, she turned over on her back and gasped for air. She hoped she hadn’t broken anything. The other man shoved Elard Kaltensee and Auguste Nowak ahead of him. They had their hands tied behind their backs, too.

“Get up!” The disguised man was standing over her, yanking at her arm. “Come on, go!”

At that moment Pia realized what had almost broken her ribs: Elard’s pistol, which was stuck in her waistband. She had to warn Henning and Miriam.

“Ow!” she screamed as loudly as she could. “My arm! I think it’s broken!”

One of the killers cursed softly, pulling Pia to her feet with the help of his pal, and shoved her down the passageway. If only Henning and Miriam had heard her cry and would find a hiding place. The two of them were her only hope, because Vera Kaltensee hadn’t remembered to tell the men about them. As she stumbled along the passage, Pia tried in vain to loosen the cord around her wrists. Then they reached the cellar. The floodlight was still on, but there was no sign of Henning and Miriam. Pia’s mouth was dry as dust, and her heart hammered against her ribs. The man who had pushed her down the hole now took the mask off, and Pia recognized who it was.

“Mrs. Moormann!” she exclaimed, stunned. “I thought … you … I mean … your husband…”

“You should have stayed in Germany,” said the housekeeper from Mühlenhof, who obviously was more than a housekeeper. She pointed the pistol with a suppressor directly at Pia’s head. “It’s your own fault that you’re in trouble.”

“But you can’t just simply shoot us. My colleagues know where we are and—”

“Shut your trap.” Anja Moormann’s face was expressionless; her eyes seemed as cold as glass marbles. “Now line up.”

Auguste Nowak and Elard Kaltensee didn’t move.

Pia ventured one last try. “The Polish police have been informed and will be here any minute if I don’t call them back.” Behind her back, her hands wriggled desperately with the cord. Her fingers were already numb, but she thought she could feel the bonds loosening. She had to gain some time.

“Your boss will be arrested at the border,” she gasped. “Why are you doing this? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Anja Moormann paid no attention. “Get moving, Professor,” she said, aiming her pistol at Elard Kaltensee. “Down on your knees.”

“How can you do this, Anja?” Elard Kaltensee said with astounding calm. “I’m very disappointed in you, really I am.”

“On your knees!” commanded the woman who was supposedly a housekeeper.

Sweat was breaking out all over Pia’s body as the cord finally gave way. She balled her hands into fists and opened them again to get some feeling back in her fingers. Her only chance was the element of surprise. With a resigned expression, Elard Kaltensee took a step toward the pit that Henning and Miriam had dug in the ground and knelt down obediently. Before Anja Moormann or her accomplice could react, Pia pulled the pistol out of her waistband, flicked off the safety, and fired. The shot was earsplitting and shredded the upper thigh of the second figure in black. Anja Moormann didn’t hesitate one second. Her gun was still aimed at Elard Kaltensee’s head, and she fired. At the same instant, Auguste Nowak made a lunge forward and threw herself in front of her son, who was kneeling on the ground. The suppressor meant that only a dull plop was heard as the bullet struck the old woman in the chest and hurled her backward. Before Anja Moormann could fire a second time, Pia dived forward and slammed into her with all her might. Both of them fell to the ground.