Bad Wolf

by Nele Neuhaus

  Hanna balled her hands into fists and fought against the rising tears. Good God, what a disgrace! How would she ever be able to live with it?

  * * *

  Instead of the two patrol cars, a complete SWAT unit was waiting when Bodenstein, Kröger, Altunay, and Kirchhoff pulled up to Peter-Böhler-Strasse.

  “What’s this all about?” Bodenstein asked the team leader in annoyance when he saw the men in their black battle uniforms. A moment later, he realized that when he called for backup Ostermann had mentioned that the target to be arrested was a Road King, so his request was forwarded by the dispatcher to the Department of Organized Crime, and the Special Assignment Unit was then notified.

  “Were you guys just planning to ring the bell and march inside?” asked the SWAT team leader in a condescending tone.

  “Certainly,” Bodenstein replied coldly. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do now. I don’t want to cause a fuss and provoke the man unnecessarily. Not when he may have a pile of testosterone-boosting weapons.”

  The team leader gave him a scornful look. “I have no desire to sit around afterward writing up reports for hours because you provincial sheriffs have underestimated the situation,” he said. “I will coordinate the action. My boys know what they have to do.”

  More and more passersby were taking notice, and residents were sticking their heads out of windows in curiosity or leaning over balcony railings. Pia shook her head impatiently. Her boss was once again letting his innate sense of courtesy get in the way.

  “If you guys stand around discussing this much longer, the bird will have been warned and flown the coop,” she put in. “And I want to go home sometime today.”

  “What were you expecting to—” began the SWAT team leader, but his arrogant tone of voice and his macho attitude finally got to Bodenstein.

  “Just stop,” Bodenstein said, interrupting the man. “We’re going in now before the TV cameras show up and our target sees his house on the local Hessenschau news. You’ll stay down here and guard the exits.”

  “You’re not even wearing a bulletproof vest,” griped the officer, who felt his honor had been insulted. “My boys and I will accompany you.”

  “If you insist,” Bodenstein said with a shrug, and set off. “But stay back.”

  Building number 143 was one of many faceless gray apartment blocks from the sixties. On this warm Saturday evening, most of the residents were outdoors. People were sitting on their balconies, children were playing soccer on the lawns between the buildings, and a few youths were tinkering with a car. Just as the police approached the building, the door opened. Two young women with strollers came out, giving them suspicious looks.

  “What’s going on here?” one of them asked when she saw the SWAT team.

  “Nothing. Move on,” snapped the SWAT team leader.

  Of course this had the opposite result. The two women stayed where they were, and one even pulled out her cell phone. Pia urged the officers to hurry. The whole action was attracting far too much attention.

  “Prinzler,” Cem read from the list of residents on the wall. “Fourth floor.”

  The foyer was filled with the smell of food cooking.

  “Pia and I will take the elevator, you guys the stairs,” Bodenstein said to Altunay and Kröger, pressing the button.

  “Wouldn’t you rather take the stairs?” Pia asked innocently.

  She knew what her boss would say, but she couldn’t help teasing him. Last summer, he had loudly declared that he was going to lose a few pounds without any stupid fitness or nutrition plans, because in the future he would simply take the stairs instead of the elevator. Since then, she’d seen him take the stairs only two or three times when there was a functioning elevator.

  The elevator arrived.

  “Every day I bitterly rue having taken you into my confidence regarding my fitness plans,” replied Bodenstein after the elevator doors closed. “You’re going to tease me till the end of my days about that thoughtlessly uttered remark. I propose we take the stairs back down.”

  “As usual, that is.” Pia grinned knowingly.

  Moments later, they stood in front of a scratched-up door adorned with a dusty wreath of plastic flowers. The mat bade a hearty welcome to visitors. Bodenstein rang the bell. Behind the thin plywood door, a radio was blasting, but there was no other sound. After a second ring, the radio was turned off. Bodenstein knocked.

  Suddenly, everything happened at top speed. When the door opened slightly, the two SWAT team members stormed past Bodenstein and threw themselves against the door, which slammed against the wall. A shrill cry came from the apartment, followed by a second cry, a dull thump, and a choking cough. Like lightning, a white cat zipped between Pia’s legs and into the stairwell, meowing loudly.

  Pia and Bodenstein stepped into the apartment. They were met by a startling sight. A petite old lady with neatly permed white hair stood in the hallway, holding a spray can, while at her feet the SWAT team leader was curled on the light gray carpet, and the other officer was leaning on the wall. He was coughing and his eyes were running. What a mess.

  “Hands up!” The old lady pointed the spray can aggressively at Bodenstein. He had never been threatened by an eighty-year-old woman with gold-framed reading glasses on the tip of her nose, but he swiftly obeyed as a precaution in view of her fierce resolve.

  “Please calm down,” he said. “My name is Bodenstein, from the Criminal Police in Hofheim. Please excuse the rude behavior of my colleagues.”

  “We’re taking Grandma with us,” croaked the team leader, struggling to get up. “I’m charging her with assault.”

  “Then I’ll charge you with breaking and entering,” countered the old lady quickly. “Get out of my apartment right now!”

  More residents were gathering in the stairwell, rubbernecking and whispering.

  “Are you all right, Elfriede?” called an old man.

  “Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” replied the fearless senior citizen, setting the spray can of tear gas on the shelf of the wardrobe. “But after this fright, I think I need a sherry.”

  She gave Bodenstein a stern look.

  “Come with me, young man,” she said. “At least you have some manners. Not like these two louts, who almost slammed the door in my face.”

  Bodenstein and Pia followed her into the living room. Rustic oak furniture, floral-patterned wallpaper, a serving cart cluttered with knickknacks, overstuffed furniture loaded down with embroidered pillows, pewter plates and steins in a cabinet. The gigantic plasma TV was an real anachronism. Hard to believe that a six-foot-seven tattooed giant frequented this apartment wearing motorcycle boots and a denim vest with a gang logo on the back.

  “A small glass for you?” the old lady asked Bodenstein.

  “No, but thank you very much,” he replied.

  “Please have a seat.” She opened a glass cabinet containing a remarkable collection of various alcoholic drinks, took a glass, and poured herself a healthy shot. “So, what’s the meaning of this invasion, then?”

  “We’re looking for Bernd Prinzler,” replied Bodenstein. “Is he your son?”

  “Ah, Bernd. Yes, that’s my son. One of four. What’s he gone and done now?” Without embarrassment, Elfriede Prinzler tossed back the sherry.

  Christian Kröger appeared in the doorway.

  “The apartment is empty,” he said. “Also no sign that anyone else stayed there recently.”

  “Who were you expecting? My son? I haven’t seen him in years.” The old lady sat down in the easy chair that faced the television. She started to giggle.

  “You must pardon the tear gas,” she went on, chortling in amusement, and Pia realized that this was not the first glass of sherry she’d had today. “But there are so many ruffians running around here; that’s why I always keep a spray can handy. Also when I go shopping or to visit the cemetery.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” said Pia. “Our colleagues were a bit overzea
lous. We didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’ve seen worse.” Elfriede Prinzler waved it off. “You know, I’m eighty-six, and life is a bit boring now. At least today something happened, and we can talk about it for the next few weeks.”

  Good that she was taking it with a sense of humor. Other people would have pressed charges in this sort of situation. And justifiably.

  “What do you want from Bernd anyway?” Mrs. Prinzler asked.

  “We want to ask him a few questions,” replied Bodenstein. “Do you know where we could find him? Do you have a phone number for him?”

  Pia looked around and went to a sideboard with framed photos from earlier times. On the wall were sepia photos depicting a young Elfriede Prinzler and her husband.

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.” The old lady shook her head regretfully. “My other boys come to see me regularly, but Bernd, he lives his own life. That’s how he’s always been. Once in a while, I get a letter for him, and I forward it to a post office box in Hanau.” She shrugged. “As long as I don’t hear anything about him, I’m content. No news is good news.”

  “Is this Bernd?” Pia asked, pointing at one of the silver frames. Hulk Hogan with dark hair, standing in front of a black car; next to him a woman, two children, and a white pit bull terrier.

  “Yes,” Elfriede Prinzler confirmed. “Too bad the way he’s tattooed, isn’t it? Like a sailor, my husband always said—God rest his soul.”

  “How old is that picture?”

  “He sent it to me last year.”

  “Would you mind if I borrow it?” Pia asked. “I’ll send it right back next week.”

  “No, of course, go ahead and take it.”

  The white cat came back inside and jumped up on Mrs. Prinzler’s lap, purring.

  “Thank you.” Pia took the photo out of the frame and turned it over. It was a photo postcard, the kind you could have made in Internet cafés.

  Merry Christmas 2009 from Bernd, Ela, Niklas, and Felix. Take care of yourself, Mom! was written on the back. Even bikers sent Christmas cards to their mothers.

  Pia examined the cancellation mark closely, and secretly rejoiced. The postcard had been stamped in Langensebold, and part of the license plate of the car was visible.

  Fifteen minutes later, they left the building; a crowd had gathered out in front. Altunay called Kai Ostermann and gave him the post office box address, although the prospect of finding out anything from the postal service over the weekend was negligible.

  “A pure waste of time, the whole action,” Kröger grumbled on the way to the car. “What a screwup.”

  “Not completely,” said Pia, handing him the photo postcard, which she had stuck in an evidence bag. “Maybe you can get a lead from this.”

  “You’re a genius,” Christian Kröger said as he looked at the photo. “Well, if that isn’t the black Hummer that was parked in front of Hanna Herzmann’s house.”

  Sunday, June 27, 2010

  The street lay in the dim glow between two streetlights as if it were dead. At ten to four in the morning, there wasn’t much going on at the Rudolph Tavern, either; all the windows were dark. Bernd had impressed on her to keep an eye out for unfamiliar cars before she went outside and opened the gate. He had offered to drive her home, but she had declined. She rode along the street at walking speed, turned left into Haingraben, and then back onto the Old Niederhofheimer at the Rudolph. Nothing conspicuous. She knew all of her neighbors’ cars; the others she’d seen had the local MTK prefix on the plates. If things kept up like this, she was going to develop paranoia. Leonie stopped in front of her property, got out, and opened the small door in the gate. The motion detector reacted, the floodlight above the front door flared, bathing the courtyard in blazing bright light. She shoved the bolt aside and opened the big gate. She wasn’t particularly afraid, since she’d been living alone for years, and yet for the past few days she’d had an odd, queasy feeling when it got dark. Her gut feelings seldom deceived her. If only she’d trusted her own instincts and kept Hanna Herzmann out of the whole thing, she wouldn’t be having these problems now. Her resentment toward this arrogant, attention-starved woman had soared to immeasurable proportions. Because of her, they’d just had a real fight!

  Leonie drove the car into the courtyard, closed the gate, and conscientiously shoved the bolt home. Inside, she went into the kitchen and got a bottle of diet Coke out of the fridge. She was so thirsty that her tongue was sticking to the roof of her mouth. She finished the half-liter bottle in no time. With one hand, she typed in a text message. All OK—made it home.

  She slipped off her shoes and used the toilet that was actually reserved for her patients. She’d been tormented by miserable flatulence all day, but she simply hadn’t been able to release it anywhere else. After she’d relieved herself, she cracked open the window and then left the bathroom. In the hall, she switched off the light and nearly jumped out of her skin. Right in front of her stood two masked figures, dark baseball caps pulled down over their faces.

  “W—what are you doing here?” Leonie tried to make her voice sound firm, although her heart was pounding with fear. “How did you get in here?”

  Damn! Her cell phone was lying on the kitchen table. Slowly, she backed up. Maybe she could run upstairs, lock herself in the bedroom, and shout for help out the window. Was there even a key in that door? Another step backward. Twenty-five feet to the stairs. Don’t look in that direction, she thought; just run and hope to have the advantage of surprise. With a sprint, she could do it. She tensed her muscles and took off, but the bigger of the two men reacted like lightning. He grabbed her arm and yanked her roughly back. Another hand grabbed her by the neck and knocked her head so hard against the wall that she fell to her knees in a daze. First she saw stars, then everything double. A warm fluid ran down her cheek and dripped from her chin onto the floor. She thought about Hanna Herzmann, about what had happened to her. Were these men going to beat her up, too, and rape her? Leonie was shaking all over as the fear turned to naked panic, when she heard a ripping sound. The next moment, she was grabbed by the feet and dragged across the floor to the therapy room. She saw the door frame and clutched at it desperately, kicking her feet. A painful kick in the ribs took her breath away, and she let go.

  “Please,” she whimpered in despair. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  * * *

  Meike opened her eyes and took a couple of seconds to figure out where she was. Then she luxuriantly stretched her arms above her head. Outside the window, the birds were singing, and sunlight seeped through the shutters, sketching bright stripes on the shiny parquet floor. Last night had been a late one. She and Wolfgang had gone out to eat in Frankfurt and had drunk quite a lot. Again he had invited her to stay at his house, because he didn’t like the idea of her alone in the house in Langenhain. This time, she’d accepted his invitation. She didn’t mention that for a few weeks now she’d been staying at a friend’s apartment in Sachsenhausen, not with Hanna. She’d loved her godfather’s magnificent white villa ever since she was a kid. She used to stay here overnight quite often when her mother was away on a trip. Wolfgang’s mother had been like a third grandmother to her. Meike truly loved her. Her suicide nine years ago had deeply shocked Meike. She couldn’t understand why someone who lived in such a lovely house, had plenty of money, and was popular and welcomed everywhere would hang herself in the attic. Christine had suffered from severe depression, Hanna once explained. Meike could still vividly remember the funeral. It was on a beautiful sunny day in September; hundreds of people had paid their respects beside the open grave. She was fifteen at the time, and she’d been most impressed that Wolfgang cried like a child. His father had always been kind to her, too, but ever since she heard him yell at Wolfgang and insult him, she’d been afraid of him. Shortly after Christine Matern’s funeral, Hanna had remarried. Georg, her new husband, was terribly jealous of Hanna’s friendship with Wolfgang, so after that they’d seldom visited the villa in O
berursel.

  Yesterday, Meike had spent the whole day with Wolfgang, and she had enjoyed their time together. He never treated her like a child, even back when she was a kid. All those years he’d been her friend and confidant, the only person with whom she could talk about things that she could never discuss with her father and definitely not with her mother. Wolfgang had visited her in the various psychiatric clinics, he never forgot her birthday, and he always tried to mediate between her and Hanna. Every now and then, Meike would ask herself why he didn’t have a wife. When she learned about homosexuality, she wondered whether he might be gay, but there was no sign of that, either. One time, she asked her mother about him, but Hanna had merely shrugged. “Wolfgang is a loner,” she’d replied, “and always has been.”

  Hanna. Meike’s guilty conscience was triggered by the thought of her mother. She still hadn’t gone to see her at the hospital. Yesterday, she’d phoned Irina, who had been there, of course. But what Irina told her only reinforced Meike’s decision to postpone the visit. She shuddered and pulled the covers up to her chin. Irina had chided her for not getting in touch. She would go there eventually, but not today, because Wolfgang wanted to drive out to the Rheingau in his cool Aston Martin convertible and take her to lunch. So you’ll have something else to think about, he’d said last night.

  The smartphone on the nightstand buzzed. Meike reached out her hand, pulled out the charging cable, and unlocked the phone. In the past twenty-four hours, she’d received 220 anonymous calls. She never answered when anyone called with an unlisted number, and definitely not if it might be the cops. This time, she had a text waiting for her.

  Hello, Ms. Herzmann. Please get in touch with me. It is very important! Yours truly, P. Kirchhoff.

  Important? For whom? Not for her.

  Meike deleted the text and hugged her knees to her chest. Why couldn’t they leave her in peace?

  * * *

  The call came into the switchboard of the Regional Criminal Unit at ten after nine in the morning. The dispatcher informed Bodenstein fifty seconds later, and he, in turn, called Pia, but she was on her way to the hospital in Höchst to see Hanna Herzmann.