I Am Your Judge: A Novel (7 page)

Her testimony before an investigative commission had provoked dramatic results. The former acting chief of police and a retired judge from the State Supreme Court both committed suicide. Other individuals involved had been arrested and had confessed, so that after fourteen years, the murders of Erik Lessing and two members of the Frankfurt Road Kings were finally resolved. After this, Engel had been reinstated and returned to her position, while Frank Behnke was sentenced to life in prison for the triple murder.

After Engel returned to the Regional Criminal Unit in Hofheim, which Bodenstein had headed temporarily during her absence, she had a long conversation with Pia and Bodenstein to thank them specifically for their actions. With this burden finally lifted from her soul after fifteen long years, a great change was apparent in Engel. Working with her was entirely different, more collegial and, at times, even convivial.

“I’d be happier if I had my whole team working on this,” Bodenstein now replied, shutting down his computer. “But perhaps a case analyst would be a good idea. We’re fishing in murky waters, and we’re no further along than we were yesterday.”

Engel stood up, and Bodenstein followed suit.

“I’m giving you carte blanche,” she assured him. “If you need more people, just tell me, and I’ll take care of it.”

His cell phone rang.

“All right.” He nodded to his boss. She left the office and he took the call.

“Papa!” Rosalie shouted in his ear. “Mama just dumped the dwarf on me, and she wasn’t supposed to do that till tomorrow!”

“I’m not a dwarf,” Sophia protested in the background, and Bodenstein had to smile.

“Calm down,” Rosalie said to her little sister; then she turned back to her father. “Mama has to leave today for Berlin, because her schedule got changed somehow. But what am I supposed to do now? I have so many things to get done, and I can’t leave Sophia alone. What am I going to—?”

“I’ll be home in half an hour,” Bodenstein interrupted his elder daughter. “Then you can take off.”

He took his coat from the closet, grabbed his briefcase, and turned off the light in his office. As he walked, he punched up his contact list on his cell and tapped in the number of his ex-wife. Once again, this was so typical of Cosima. She was always so wrapped up in her own plans and impulsive ideas, so she had never paid much attention to what anyone else needed to do—her husband and her children came second.

*   *   *

Pia put away her buzzing cell phone when she saw that the caller had blocked the number. At seven thirty in the evening, it could only be somebody she didn’t know, or the police dispatcher. In twenty-four hours, she would be sitting on the plane to Ecuador, and she didn’t want the decision that she had finally made to be jeopardized by anything.

“Don’t you want to take that call?” Christoph asked.

“No.”

She had already given the horses their evening hay, and now she wanted to curl up on the comfortable sofa and watch a DVD with Christoph while they finished off at least one bottle of wine. “Did you choose a movie?”

“How about
In Bruges
?” Christoph suggested. “We haven’t watched that in a long time.”

“Please, nothing with guns and dead bodies,” said Pia.

“Well, that eliminates almost everything we have in our video collection,” he said with a grin. He was dead set against letting Pia talk him into watching
Steel Magnolias
or
The Devil Wears Prada
. Before he found some soccer game on the Sky Channel or a deadly boring documentary on Arte, Pia agreed to watch a James Bond movie. They were always entertaining, and it would take her mind off other things.

Her cell buzzed again.

“Go ahead and take it,” Christoph said. “It seems to be important.”

Pia sighed, grabbed the phone, and said hello.

“Ms. Kirchhoff, please forgive me for bothering you,” said the officer on duty. “I know you’re on vacation, but I can’t reach anyone else from K-11. We have another body. In Oberursel this time.”

“Shit,” Pia muttered. “What about Bodenstein?”

“He’s not answering his phone. But I’ll try him again.”

“Where do I have to go?” She met Christoph’s gaze and shrugged to signal her regret.

“The address is An der Heide 12 in Oberursel,” said the officer. “I’ve already notified the evidence team.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“And thank you.” He had the decency not to wish her a good evening, because obviously she wasn’t going to have one.

“What’s up?” Christoph asked.

“If only I hadn’t taken that call.” Pia got up. “There’s another body, in Oberursel. I’m really sorry. I hope the boss shows up soon so I can make a quick exit.”

*   *   *

Bodenstein was ecstatic that he had to play only a minor role in his ex-wife’s chaotic life. It had taken him years to admit that he didn’t find it “exciting” but rather terribly exhausting to adapt to her constantly changing plans. Cosima had no qualms about rescheduling appointments that had been made weeks before, if something more interesting suddenly popped into her head. And she expected her family and friends simply to accept the way she impulsively changed her mind. “Flexibility” and “spontaneity,” two words that she promoted as positive traits, were in Bodenstein’s eyes nothing more than proof of her inability to organize her life.

“I wanted to take a taxi, but they couldn’t send one for an hour!” Cosima said as Bodenstein loaded her luggage into the trunk of her SUV in the parking garage of the Zauberberg building in Ruppertshain. “It’s totally outrageous.”

“If you’d ordered the cab yesterday, I’m sure it wouldn’t have been a problem,” was all he said as he closed the trunk. “Have you got everything?”

“Oh dear, where’s my purse? Did I have it with me or not?” She opened the trunk again. Bodenstein got in behind the wheel and turned to Sophia, who was in her car seat.

“Are you all strapped in?” he asked.

“Sure. Even a baby could do it,” replied his younger daughter.

“Ah, here it is!” Cosima shouted, slamming the trunk closed, then jumping into the passenger seat. “God, I’m frazzled.”

Bodenstein refrained from commenting. He started the engine and drove off. Some things would never change.

Cosima babbled on during the whole trip, through Fischbach and Kelkheim, down the B 8, and didn’t shut up until they turned at the Main-Taunus Center and got on the A 66 to Wiesbaden. Bodenstein glanced to the right and saw in the dark the lights of Birkenhof, where Pia lived with her partner. Maybe the profiler that Nicola had forced on him would really help solve the case quickly. But he felt rather lost without Pia, Cem, and Kathrin. During his career with the criminal police, there had been very few cases that went unsolved. He had the unpleasant feeling that the murder of Ingeborg Rohleder might one day end up as a cold case in a box in the archives. Seldom had the evidence been so scanty as it was in this investigation.

“Are we there yet, Papa?” Sophia asked from the backseat.

“Almost,” he said, signaling to turn right. A few minutes later, they could see the lights of the Frankfurt Airport. He had driven Cosima out here countless times when she was going off on a trip. He could find the way in his sleep. As usual at this time of the evening, all hell had broken loose at the airport, but Bodenstein got lucky and nabbed a ten-minute spot in front of the departure hall. He got out, found a baggage cart, and loaded suitcases and bags on it while Cosima said good-bye to Sophia.

Then they were standing face-to-face.

“Kind of like the old days, don’t you think?” Cosima smiled, a little embarrassed. “Merry Christmas, Oliver. And thanks for everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Bodenstein. “And Merry Christmas to you, too. Give us a call on Christmas Eve, everybody’s coming over to my house.”

“Ah, I wish I could be there,” Cosima said with a sigh, surprising him. She didn’t seem very happy. The feverish euphoria that had always gripped her when taking off on a trip to work on a long-planned film project was missing.

Suddenly she took a step toward Bodenstein and hugged him. It was the first time in years that she’d touched him, but it felt strangely familiar. She still wore the same perfume.

“I miss you,” she whispered, giving him a kiss on the cheek. The next instant, she grabbed the handle of the baggage cart, blew Sophia a kiss, and took off. Amazed, Bodenstein watched her go until the glass doors of the departure hall closed behind her and she disappeared in the crowd.

*   *   *

When Pia arrived at the designated address with the help of the GPS, she had a feeling that it was going to be a long evening, because the whole cavalry had turned out in the quiet cul-de-sac at the edge of the fields: several patrol cars, the medical examiner, ambulances, forensic team, and a crisis intervention team. Blue lights flashed mutely in the night. Pia left her car behind a dark-colored Porsche with Frankfurt plates and walked through the light snowfall to the blue VW van with the side door open.

“Hello,” she greeted her colleagues, who were already pulling on overalls and unloading the equipment they needed for their crime-scene work.

“Hi, Pia.” Christian Kröger jumped out of the van.

“So what do we have?” she asked.

“A woman was shot,” said Kröger. “Her granddaughter was standing right next to her. Her daughter is also in the house. They’re both being treated for shock and emotional trauma.”

That didn’t sound good. Not good at all.

“Who is the dead woman?”

“Margarethe Rudolf, sixty-four. I think her husband is a doctor.” Kröger pulled up his hood. “The ME just got here. Two of my team are still inside, but I need to examine the outside before the snow or any curious neighbors mess up the place.”

He grabbed two metal cases.

“Why outside?” Pia asked. “I thought it happened indoors.”

“The woman was standing in the kitchen,” Kröger said. “But the perp shot through the window from outside. Head shot with a large caliber. If you ask me, it looks a lot like our perp has struck a second time. Sorry, but I’ve got to hurry.”

Pia nodded and took a deep breath. So it wasn’t a domestic dispute after all. Although that would have been bad enough, the alternative might be even worse. She gazed through the whirling snowflakes at the old house. What could be waiting for her inside? Why the hell had she answered her cell phone? Right now she could have been lying comfortably on her couch and watching a movie, but instead, her damned sense of duty had brought her here. At last, she gave herself a kick in the butt, crossed the street, and followed the paved path to the front door, which was ajar.

“Where do I go?” she asked one of the uniforms who was standing in the foyer.

“Straight ahead and then take a right. In the kitchen,” he replied. “The victim’s daughter and granddaughter are in the house. The deceased’s husband, Professor Dieter Rudolf, isn’t here yet, and as far as I know, he hasn’t been informed. I say this only so that you’ll be prepared.”

“Thank you,” Pia said. This was completely different from doing crime-scene work at some anonymous place. Here, they were in the presence of family members who were in shock. She was glad that a crisis intervention team had arrived, along with a psychologist and a pastor.

“Hello,” she said as she entered the kitchen.

“Hello, Ms. Kirchhoff,” Frederick Lemmer said, looking up and nodding to her. “She’s been dead for about an hour,” said the ME. “A single shot that struck the right side of her head. She must have been turning her head left at that instant. The bullet exited at about the same height and went through a cupboard door. In my opinion, the same caliber as the one yesterday.”

The woman lay on her back. She was wearing a blue-and-white striped apron over a brown sweater and a thin knitted cardigan. Her facial features were almost beyond recognition, so destructive had been the effect of the bullet. There was blood and brain matter all over the cupboards and all the way up to the ceiling. Pia had learned in her day-to-day experience as a homicide investigator, as well as in numerous police courses and seminars, to keep her head functioning in situations like this and to close her heart, but the sight of the bag of flour in the victim’s left hand made her swallow hard. Her eyes took in the rest of the room. On the counter below the window stood sugar and butter, eggs, crumbled chocolate, and shredded coconut, along with a bowl, a mixer, and metal cookie cutters—Christmas trees, animals, stars.

“She was just getting ready to bake Christmas cookies,” Pia said in a hoarse voice. Rage flared up inside her. How ice-cold would a person have to be to do something like this so close to Christmas and in the presence of a child?

Somewhere in the house, a phone rang, but no one picked it up.

“Are you guys finished?” Pia asked her colleagues from the evidence team.

“We’re done with the body,” said one of the officers.

“You, too, Dr. Lemmer?”

“Yes.” The ME closed his bag and stood up.

“Then I’d like the body to be transported immediately,” Pia ordered. “And get a crime-scene cleaner in here right away. Things are already bad enough for the family.”

“Will do,” one of the officers said with a nod. “I’ll tell the morgue guy outside.”

Pia stayed behind in the kitchen alone. She examined the shattered pane in one of the rectangular wooden lattices of the window, through which the cold wind was blowing. Death had occurred in a fraction of a second, and Margarethe Rudolf had felt nothing—no fear of death, no pain. From one moment to the next, her life was over. But her granddaughter had witnessed the whole thing.

Pia glanced at the clock. Eight thirty. Where was Bodenstein?

She had to talk to the girl and her mother, although she would have preferred to be spared the task. But there was no sense in putting it off any longer.

Pia heard loud voices outside. She went into the hall and saw a slim, white-haired man in a dark coat who was trying in vain to get past two officers. “Let me through at once! This is my house!” the man cried in outrage. “What’s going on here?”

Pia went over to him, and the two officers stepped aside.