Time Heals No Wounds by Hendrik Falkenberg Page A

don’t know what Merlin was up to on Saturday. Do any of these people seem suspicious to you? But you’re right. Just because the focus is on Schneider right now doesn’t mean we should lose sight of other possibilities. Even a crazy old artist, a somewhat simple-minded farmhand, and an unpretentious farmer and his wife may have their dark sides too. So long as we’re unsure of the victim’s identity, it’s unfortunately quite difficult to make any connections. If we still don’t know who she is by tomorrow, we’ll probably have to show our country bumpkins a photo of the corpse. There’s no way around it. But at least Mr. Olsen has already seen it and stated that he doesn’t know the victim.”
    Fritz stopped the Jeep in front of a modern estate in an upscale residential area on the outskirts of the city. High walls and massive steel gates blocked the view of the mansion. It was already noon and well over ninety degrees.
    “Six Lake Street. This is Schneider’s home,” Fritz said, pointing to the gate.
    “Where’s the lake?” asked Hannes. “I’m a little disappointed.”
    “It’s probably behind the property, with private bathing platforms for members of high society.”
    Fritz opened the glove compartment and pulled out a badge, business cards, and his gun. He threw on a linen jacket despite the heat and stuffed his gun into the inside pocket.
    “Do you think it’ll get that serious?” asked Hannes.
    “No idea. But in the event that Schneider has something to do with the woman’s death and feels cornered, I’d rather play it safe. I don’t think he’s actually home. But perhaps his wife will let us in. Then at least we’ll know she’s still alive.”
    Hannes rang the bell, and a woman’s voice came over the intercom.
    Fritz got straight to the point. “Hello. This is the police. Are you Mrs. Schneider?”
    “I am. Did something happen?”
    “We’d like to talk to you. Would you please open the gate?”
    “Did something happen to my husband?”
    Fritz shot Hannes a meaningful glance. “Could you please let us in? We’d prefer not to communicate through the intercom.”
    “Of course, come in!”
    A moment later, the gate swung open. A white house with odd angles stood on the other side of a well-kept lawn with meticulously trimmed hedges. Porthole-shaped windows alternated with protruding walls. The house was surmounted by a bold roof that looked like a bent triangle that extended to the ground. Each room seemed to have a private balcony or winter garden, and the first floor consisted almost entirely of glass.
    “Wow,” Hannes said. He stared in wonder at the unique mansion.
    Even Fritz seemed enamored. He scratched his head and looked around. “I would never have thought you could make so much money off commission,” he said. “And look at the size of the plot. All this must be worth a fortune. Maybe he inherited something.”
    Hannes followed Fritz along a gravel road, which must have been meticulously raked shortly before. When they had made it halfway, a massive brown wooden door opened, and a tall, slender middle-aged woman stepped out. Her high-heeled sandals and dress were white, and her light-blonde, artistically ambitious hair and pale skin completed the enchanting scene. She floated atop a sweeping staircase in front of them.
    Mrs. Schneider turned to a shirtless young man who was weeding at the edge of the stairs. “Lars, please take a look at the rhododendrons on the lakeside terrace. I believe they’re in desperate need of water.”
    The young man wiped beads of sweat from his forehead. “Of course, Mrs. Schneider, I’ll take care of it right away.” He nodded to Fritz and Hannes and disappeared around the corner.
    Fritz took out his badge and droned the usual greeting. “You asked about your husband,” he continued. “Do you have a reason to believe we’re here because of him?”
    “I don’t know why you’ve come. Please, explain,” Mrs. Schneider said,