Read Online I Am Your Judge: A Novel by Nele Neuhaus - Free Book Online Page A

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