I Am Your Judge: A Novel (13 page)

“There’s only one person acting like a dilettante here, and it’s you,” he pronounced from above in the truest sense of the word, for Neff reached only to his chin. “With your half-baked theories and your obsession with profiling, you’re creating chaos all by yourself. It would be best if you’d simply shut your trap and listen, then you might learn something.”

“Who do you think you are?” Outraged, Neff was about to argue, but Kröger walked right past him.

“I don’t have time for this crap,” he said without deigning to give Neff another glance. “Oh, Pia, I just thought of something. We ought to call our colleagues in Oberursel and find out whether they got a similar letter in the mail.”

The metaphoric penalty card that he had shown Neff could hardly have been a darker red, and Pia had to stifle a laugh when she saw Neff’s face.

Bodenstein was waiting downstairs by the security gate.

“Where were all of you?” he asked.

“The little Napoleon from State was spouting his theories left and right, and we had to have a brief discussion with him,” said Kröger. “Listen, Oliver, I think that our colleagues in Oberursel may have received an obituary in the mail, too. The perp probably has no idea who’s leading the investigation, so he’s turning to the local police stations.”

“Why Oberursel?” asked Bodenstein.

“Because that’s where Margarethe Rudolf lived.”

Bodenstein thought for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” He went into the watch room and spoke with the investigator on duty.

“So you don’t doubt the authenticity of this obituary, right?” Pia asked her colleagues.

“No, I consider it genuine,” said Kröger. “On that point, I agree with Napoleon: The perp revealed his motive to us, and it’s revenge.”

“
What
did you call me?” Neff asked fiercely.

“What’s so bad about ‘Napoleon’?” asked Kröger with an innocent smile, and Pia had to turn away to avoid laughing in Neff’s face.

“I don’t have to put up with this!”

“My colleague doesn’t have to put up with you calling her a dilettante either,” Kröger cut him short.

“Why can’t she defend herself?” Neff countered. “Does she need someone to be her mouthpiece? Or is there some other reason why you’re standing up for her?” he said with a lewd smirk.

Bodenstein came striding out of the watch room.

“Christian, you’re an ace!” he said excitedly. “They got an obit in the mail today, too! We’re going to stop and see Ms. Rohleder and then on to Oberursel.”

“Well, no answer is an answer, too,” said Neff. “I thought it was something like this.”

“What are you talking about?” Bodenstein wanted to know.

“Napoleon thinks that Pia and I must have something going on with each other, because I took her side when he insulted her,” said Kröger, whereupon Neff turned red.

“What sort of crap is this?” Bodenstein’s voice was sharp. “We’ve got two homicides to solve and no time for any sort of personal squabbles. I want a team that pulls together, not some silly wrangling about competence.”

“I’m being deliberately left out,” Neff complained. “And then my
colleague
forbids me to speak.”

“Because you talk nothing but drivel from morning to night,” said Kröger, opening the glass door.

“Dilettantes! The whole lot of you!” Neff hissed, infuriated.

“Spiteful little troll!” Kröger mocked him.

Pia didn’t say a word. She wanted to comply with her boss’s request and try to get along with Neff. She gave Bodenstein a quick sidelong glance; a deep crease had formed above the bridge of his nose. She knew him well enough to see that he was just about to lose his blue-blooded composure.

“I don’t have to listen to that! I’m leaving!” Neff marched past them in a huff. No one tried to stop him.

“The bus stop is just outside to the right!” Pia called after him. She couldn’t help herself.

“What are you? A bunch of kindergarteners?” Bodenstein reprimanded her.

“He gets on your nerves, too. Admit it,” Pia said. “When he’s around, I can’t even think.”

“Well, now he’s gone.” Bodenstein didn’t seem to regret it either. “Come on, hop in. We have things to do.”

*   *   *

Renate Rohleder wasn’t home, so Bodenstein decided to pay her a visit later and first drive to Oberursel. He was secretly relieved that Neff had gone, because the man was upsetting his team. In his initial interview with the profiler, he obviously hadn’t spelled things out clearly enough. He had to tell him that his arrogant behavior was totally counterproductive.

His cell phone rang. Ms. Wagner, Inka’s veterinary assistant, wanted to go home, and Inka wasn’t back yet. Damn.

“I’ll call my father and ask him to pick up Sophia. Thanks for all your help.”

He tapped in the number to his parents’ landline, hoping that they’d be able to take care of the child until he finished up today. Luckily, his father had time and promised to leave right away to go and get his granddaughter at the horse clinic.

“It may be late,” Bodenstein told him.

“Then she can sleep at our house,” his father said to his great relief. “It wouldn’t be the first time. You can pick her up in the morning.”

Bodenstein thanked him and put his cell away. He didn’t like always having to leave his daughter somewhere, but what else could he do? Didn’t Cosima do the same thing? After the argument in the kitchen this afternoon, he’d wanted to talk to Sophia in peace and quiet for a change, but his job took precedence. And he couldn’t take the little girl along on a homicide investigation.

They drove directly to the police station in Oberursel and picked up the anonymous letter. Just like the obituary for Ingeborg Rohleder, this one was also printed out on ordinary paper and stuck in a regular envelope with a computer-generated address label and a stamp. Kröger put on latex gloves before he picked up the letter and carefully examined it.

“‘In memoriam Margarethe Rudolf,’” he read aloud. “‘Margarethe Rudolf had to die because her husband implicated himself in a murder out of greed and vanity. The Judge.”’

“I wonder what Professor Rudolf will say about this.” Bodenstein consulted his watch. A little before six. Not too late for a visit. A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the professor’s house, which was totally dark. Kröger stayed in the car while Pia and Bodenstein made their way up the short walkway through the light snowfall. A floodlight above the garage went on, triggered by a motion detector.

“I hope he’s home.” Pia rang the doorbell.

It took a moment before the professor opened the door. His gaunt face was unshaven and pale. He looked as though he’d aged ten years in the past forty-eight hours.

“What do you want?” he asked brusquely without saying hello.

“Good evening,” Bodenstein said politely. “We’d like to show you something. May we come in?”

The professor hesitated, then relented.

“Of course,” he said. “Please excuse me.”

They followed him through the foyer into the dining room. The parquet floor creaked under their feet. The house seemed stuffy and smelled of stale cigarette smoke and leftover food.

“Isn’t your daughter still here?” Pia asked.

“Karoline has to take care of Greta. Now more than ever.” Professor Rudolf turned on the lights. “I’m managing all right on my own. What else can I do?”

The lamp hanging above the dining room table bathed the room in a wan light that only slowly grew brighter. The professor stood in the middle of the room and made a vague gesture toward the table, which was littered with dirty plates and glasses.

No one sat down.

“Dr. Rudolf,” Bodenstein began as he unfolded the copy of the obituary. “This notice arrived in the mail today at the police station in Oberursel. We presume that the perpetrator sent it. Earlier, we had assumed that your wife’s murder was a crime of opportunity, but the content of this notice now throws another light on the case.”

He handed him the sheet of paper. The professor scanned the sentence and his face turned ashen. Then he looked up.

“What … what’s this supposed to mean?” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ve worked in transplant surgery for more than twenty years. I save lives! On my vacations, I’ve been operating pro bono in hospitals in Africa!”

He pulled a chair out from the table and sat down heavily. He read the obituary a second time and shook his head in bewilderment. His hands were trembling.

“Perhaps one of your patients died after you implanted a new organ,” Pia ventured cautiously. “And the family members hold you responsible for the death.”

“Every patient who agrees to a transplant operation knows that the only alternative is death,” the professor replied almost inaudibly. He shoved the piece of paper away, took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.

“Professor, we’d like to ask you to think carefully. Where could such an accusation have come from?” said Bodenstein.

The professor did not react.

“My wife, whom I loved above all else, is dead,” he whispered at last. “My daughter and my granddaughter have been badly traumatized. We have lost our center. Please leave me alone. I am … I’m in no condition to answer any questions.”

His voice broke. Slowly he raised his head as if that simple movement required enormous effort. Nothing remained of the vital, self-confident man that Pia had seen for the first time on the evening of his wife’s murder. Before them sat a broken human being. And now he had to deal not only with the loss of his wife, but also with the accusation that he was to blame for her death.

“Please leave.”

“Of course. We’ll find our way out,” said Bodenstein. In the doorway, Pia glanced back at the professor, who had laid his head on his arms and was sobbing.

*   *   *

Renate Rohleder was neither at home nor at the flower shop, so they drove back to the station. Bodenstein said good-bye to his colleagues in the parking lot. Kröger was going to take the two anonymous letters to the crime lab in Wiesbaden to have them examined for fingerprints and DNA traces, so Pia entered the building alone. The offices of K-11 were deserted. Kathrin had been sensible and gone home to bed, and Andreas Neff apparently had not come back. Pia went to her office and ran into Kai, who was in a bad mood.

“Neff, that blockhead, rummaged through all my case files! If I get my hands on him…,” he complained. “I wasted two whole hours sorting out my system all over again.”

Even though Kai Ostermann, with his ponytail, nickel eyeglass frames, and casual clothes seemed like an unorganized computer freak, he was one of the best organized individuals Pia had ever met.

“I warned him,” she said. “But he insisted on setting up camp in our office.”

“I dare him to show up here again,” Kai muttered angrily to himself. To help improve his mood, Pia told him about the incident at the Eschborn police station, which had led Neff to leave voluntarily.

“Napoleon! He’s completely out of place here,” Kai said with a grin. “If he keeps doing this, he’s going to meet his Waterloo.”

Pia told him about the two obituaries and the fruitless conversation with Professor Rudolf. She had just finished when her cell phone rang.

“Hello, Henning,” she greeted her ex-husband. “What’s up?”

“I heard that I won our bet,” he said with a mocking undertone, which instantly raised Pia’s hackles. “You sent Christoph off alone on his trip to the other side of the globe.”

“What bet?” she replied coolly. “I never shook on it.”

“You have a standing invitation. Miriam would love it if you could come over on Christmas Eve.”

That was extremely nice, but Pia felt no desire to celebrate Christmas Eve in the apartment where she had lived for years with Henning. After their separation, that was also where she had once caught him in flagrante with District Attorney Löblich on the coffee table. The apartment held too many memories, more bad ones than good.

“That’s very nice of you,” she said. “But I’m taking the opportunity to see my family. My sister and brother are both staying at our parents’ place over Christmas.”

“Okay, then, have a great time and say hello to everyone from me,” said Henning.

They spoke briefly about the police action at the shopping center, and Pia told him about the obituaries that the sniper had sent. As the leader of the Institute of Forensic Medicine, Henning was not part of the police, but he was an important component of the team. Given his astuteness and expertise, he was always able to offer helpful advice.

“It doesn’t really advance your investigation, though,” he said.

“Depends on your point of view. At any rate, the obits tell us something about the sniper’s motives,” Pia said. Then something else occurred to her. “Tell me, do you happen to know a Professor Dieter Paul Rudolf? He’s a transplant surgeon.”

“Hmm.” Henning thought about it for a moment. “No, offhand, that name doesn’t ring a bell. But I could find out about him. There aren’t that many transplant surgeons.”

From past experience, Pia knew what excellent investigative skills her ex-husband and his wife, her best friend Miriam, possessed, so she was pleased with this suggestion.

“We’re grateful for any help you can provide,” she said. “The idiot profiler that Engel dumped on us is just causing more confusion instead of helping.”

Then they wished each other a nice weekend, and Pia hung up.

“You have a family?” Kai asked curiously.

“Naturally,” Pia replied sharply. “Did you think I was found in a ditch?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” said Kai. “But ever since I’ve known you, you’ve never talked about your parents or any siblings.”

“I know. I apologize for being so touchy,” said Pia. “Family isn’t a good topic for me. It’s been years since all of us spent any time together.”

As a matter of fact, Kai could hardly know anything about her family, because Pia never mentioned a word about her private life—just the opposite of Cem Altunay, who had a whole row of family photos on his desk. Pia’s parents, who lived in Igstadt, a suburb of Wiesbaden, had never understood why she would abandon the security of her marriage and prefer to live alone on an old farm and return to work with the criminal police. Pia’s father had worked a shift at Hoechst AG for forty years, and since his retirement, her parents’ life had been restricted to church, gardening, and the lawn bowling club. When Pia had told her parents about Christoph for the first time, her mother’s only concern was what “people” would say because Pia was not yet divorced. But the real rift in their relationship occurred more than twenty years in the past. Back then, Pia was stalked for months by a man she had met on vacation in France and was finally brutally raped in her own apartment. Her parents’ only reaction had been embarrassed silence, and they never mentioned the incident. At her wedding to Henning a couple of years later, Pia realized that she no longer had anything to say to her parents. They lived in their bourgeois microcosm, which had become utterly foreign to Pia.